IOOKSTACKF 


OF  THE 

U N I VERS  ITY 
OF  ILLINOIS 


MS 

C8ld 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016 


https://archive.org/details/dickwilsonrumselOOcorn 


--  A W5f. 


® I) i v b ®!)0tt0anit. 


DICK  WILSON, 


THE  RUMSELLEK’S  VICTIM: 

OR, 

HUMANITY  PLEADING  FOR  THE 


“MAINE  LAW." 


% f tmpmnr*  Steffi— JriRKinfo  mt 


BY  JOHN  K.  COBNYN. 

jjA- 

WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION,  BY  THURLOW  W.  BROWN. 

A 


AUBURN: 

DERBY  & MILLER- 
buffalo:  derby,  orton  & mulligan. 
Cincinnati:  henry  w.  derby. 


1853. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1853, 

BY  JOHN  K.  CORNYN, 

In  the  Clerk’s  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Northern  District 
of  New  York. 


STEREOTYPED  BY 

THOMAS  B.  SMITH 

216  William  St.  N.  Y. 


$1* 

I <k 


f r t f a r t ♦ 



V 

There  was  a time  in  the  history  of  the  Temperance  refor- 
mation, when  it  would  have  been  necessary,  in  presenting  a 
work  upon  this  subject  to  the  public,  to  have  fortified  it  well 
with  apologies.  That  time,  however,  under  the  influence  of 
the  light  “ which  shineth  more  and  more  unto  the  perfect 
day,”  has  passed,  and  it  is  no  longer  a work  of  doubtful  pro- 
priety. This  question  has  passed  successfully  through  all  the 
stages  of  progressive  revolution,  and  wherever  a new  era 
dawned  upon  it,  there  it  erected  its  altar,  offered  its  sacrifice 
of  thanks  to  God,  and  marched  on.  Where  is  it  now  ? in 
the  keeping  of  comparatively  the  few  ? No  ! it  has  become 
the  question  with  the  masses — the  question  of  the  age.  It  is 
backed  up,  wished  and  prayed  for,  in  every  circle,  save  that  in 
which  the  rumseller  rules. 

It  has  gathered  to  its  aid  every  variety  of  talent,  and  this 
has  been  made  doubly  effective,  by  the  knowledge  of  the  fact, 
that  it  was  set  for  the  defence  of  virtue  and  innocence. 

. ; 

Still  the  work  is  not  yet  accomplished.  Its  vaunting  enemy, 
who  would,  if  it  were  possible,  establish  a Divine  right  to  roll 
on  his  death-freighted  car,  is  not  idle.  He  is  wary — cunning 

'■ii 

— subtle  as  his  ancient  prototype,  who  said,  “ ye  shall  be  as 

V . 


iy 


PREFACE. 


gods  ” Money  is  dispersed  freely — men  are  bought  and  sold, 
wherever  there  is  an  opportunity  to  do  so — elections  are  con- 
trolled, and  legislatures  are  overawed  by  them,  and  it  is  only 
in  the  broad  clear  face  of  the  people’s  sovereignty,  which  has 
always  been  the  terror  of  tyrants,  that  they  see  their  merited 
doom. 

For  an  encounter  of  this  kind,  earnest,  determined,  unyield- 
ing humanity  is  gathering  up  its  armor.  It  is  not  without  a 
witness  as  to  what  it  can  accomplish,  when  fairly  marshalled 
for  legislative  strife.  The  “ Maine  Law”  is  the  battle  cry,  and 
anything  and  everything  which  will  tend  to  throw  light  upon 
the  deformities  of  this  shapeless  monster,  and  waken  the  public 
mind  to  greater  effort  in  this  cause,  will  be  of  service.  It  is 
with  this  view  that  the  story  of  Dick  Wilson  is  offered  to  the 
public  by  the 

The  Author. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Introduction 9 

CHAPTER  I. 

Future  Plans  and  Prospects 25 

CHAPTER  II. 

News  from  Home — a sad  change 46 

CHAPTER  III. 

Leaving  a Desolated  Home .71 

CHAPTER  IV. 

The  Contrast  and  its  Cause  85 

CHAPTER  V. 

The  Contrast  and  its  Cause  (Continued) 96 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Rumsellers. — Causes  and  Consequences 110 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


Practical  Sympathy- 

CHAPTER  VII. 

PAO  E 

— DIFFERENCE  IN  CHARACTER  . 124 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

New  Home — its  Character — -its  Danger  . . .142 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Temperance  Meeting  and  its  Results  . . .160 


Rummies  in  Council- 

CHAPTER  X. 

-their.  Doings  ...  .175 

CHAPTER  XL 

The  Party — the  Snare — the  Escape  . . . .191 

CHAPTER  XII. 

Tee  Tempter  Foiled .213 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

The  Maine  Law — Legislative  Juggling 230 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  Drover’s  Grave — “Murder  Will  Out,” 


246 


CONTENTS. 


Vll 


CHAPTER  XY. 

PAGE 

The  Guilty  Tremble. — Dick’s  Prospects 259 

CHAPTER  XYI. 

The  Plot — the  Victim 275 

CHAPTER  XYII. 

Duty  and  Pleasure 292 

CHAPTER  XYIII. 

Kate  Hamilton  and  Mrs.  Wilson 304 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

What  Rum  Does 323 

CHAPTER  XX. 

The  Reformed  Rumseller . 342 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

Flying  from  Temptation . .852 

CHAPTER  XXII. 


The  Lost  Found 


868 


Vlll 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

PAGE 

The  Effect — the  Cause — the  Remedy 382 

CHAPTER  XXIY. 

The  Mission  of  Love 389 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

The  Journey  and  its  Results 399 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 


The  “Maine  Law”  our  only  hope — Conclusion 


c 415 


J it  t r 0 ft  ur  t mu 


For  forty  days  and  forty  nights  the  rain  poured 
down  from  the  open  windows  of  the  heavens,  until 
the  flood  covered  the  earth,  and  the  sun,  after  the 
storm,  smiled  down  upon  the  watery  waste,  where  a 
world  lay  entombed.  Solitary  and  alone,  without 
helm,  mast,  or  sail,  like  a speck  on  the  world- wide 
ocean,  floated  the  ark  with  its  freight.  The  olive 
branch,  borne  upon  a weary  but  glad  wing,  proclaimed 
the  subsiding  of  the  deluge.  The  sunbeams  kissed 
the  vapors  as  they  rolled  up  from  the  retiring  waters, 
and  the  bow  of  promise  lifted  its  arch  into  the  clouds. 

Noah  went  out  and  planted  a vineyard.  He  par- 
took of  its  fruits,  and  lay  in  his  tent  in  the  slumbers 
of  drunkenness.  The  frailties  of  a good  man,  are 
used  to  justify  the  drinking  usages  of  to-day.  The 
scourge  of  a world  passed  away,  had  commenced  its 
progress  again  in  the  new.  From  that  vineyard  the 
tide  has  swept  on,  gathering  in  depth  and  power,  un- 
til the  debris  of  human  ruin  has  been  left  on  every 
shore  where  human  foot  has  trodden.  Stream  has 
mingled  with  stream,  and  wave  followed  wave,  until 
every  land  and  people  have  been  scourged.  In  the 


X 


INTRODUCTION. 


hamlet,  the  city,  the  country,  or  wilderness,  the  influ- 
ence has  been  the  same.  Nations  have  been  drunken 
to  madness.  New  woes  and  keener  sorrows  have 
been  sent  out  to  stalk  through  the  world,  followed  by 
red-handed  crime  and  ghastly  death.  Beneath  those 
oblivious  waves,  the  brightest  hopes  of  earth  and 
heaven  have  gone  down ; and  up  and  down  the  world 
the  stricken  millions  have,  wasted  away,  and  prema- 
turely mingled  with  a mother  dust.  North,  east,  south 
and  west,  the  plague  has  spread.  The  white  sails  of 
commerce  have  borne  it  across  oceans.  The  pioneer 
has  carried  it  across  the  wilderness.  The  trader  has 
scaled  the  mountain  range,  and  thus,  in  civilized  and 
savage  clime,  the  noon-day  scourge  has  sped  on  in  its 
mission  of  ruin.  In  the  hut  of  the  savage,  or  where 
science,  letters  and  art  have  elevated  and  refined,  the 
effects  have  been  the  same.  The  very  heart  of  hu- 
man society  has  been  poisoned,  until  along  e'very  ar- 
tery of  health  and  strength,  the  hot  currents  have 
swept  in  their  blighting  power.  The  shadow  has  fallen 
across  every  hearth-side,  and  at  the  altar’s  bas3;  and 
lingered  there  like  the  foot-prints  of  unutterable  woe. 
Every  house  has  had  one  dead  in  it — every  circle  has 
been  broken.  Homes  are  ruined  and  deserted,  and 
fields  turned  to  waste.  The  wife  and  the  children  are 
driven  out  from  the  home-roof,  and  to-day  the  moth- 
ers of  America,  like  Niobe  of  old,  as  they  weep  at 
their  broken  altars,  are  attempting  to  shield  their  off- 
spring from  the  shafts  which  fall  thickly  around,  and 
quiver  in  the  tender  hearts  they  love.  It  is  Intem- 
perance that  we  speak  of ; the.  history  of  whose  deso- 


INTRODUCTION. 


XI 


lations  has  outstripped  the  wildest  imagery  of  tragic 
fiction,  and  laughed  to  scorn  the  efforts  of  the  tongue, 
pen,  or  pencil.  If  hell  has  one  more  potent  enginery 
of  human  degradation  and  crime  upon  earth  than  an- 
other, it  is  Intemperance.  It’s  very  sound  sends  a thrill 
back  to  the  heart,  and  a Gorgon  monster  slowly  rises 
up  from  its  heart  of  blood  among  the  graves. 

The  gloomy  night  of  Intemperance  long  rested 
upon  the  world,  and  no  day-star  in  the  horizon.  The 
death  slumber  was  deep  and  profound.  Like  the  fa- 
bled city  which  was  petrified  into  stone,  no  trumpet 
blast  rang  out  to  awaken  to  life.  Woe  and  Want  went 
hand  in  hand,  Vice  and  Violence  stalked  unobstructed, 
arid  Crime  laughed  and  reeled  in  its  drunkenness  of 
blood.  Alone  in  the  sky,  the  malign  light  of  the 
death -beacon  followed  man  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave. 
The  monster  sat  at  every  gathering.  At  the  birth, 
marriage,  or  death  ; in  the  home,  shop,  or  field ; at  the 
social  re-union,  or  the  festive  day' — in  hut,  palace,  or 
council-hall,  it  plied  its  work.  The  mother  fed  rum 
to  her  babe  with  her  own  hand,  or  through  the  re- 
sources of  life.  The  fair  young  bride  stood  at  the  altar 
in  the  light  of  her  bright  life-dream,  and  handed  the 
goblet  to  him  she  had  chosen  to  accompany  in  the  pil- 
grimage of  life.  At  the  social  board,  the  father  fol- 
lowed the  marriage  prayer  with  a glass.  In  the  silence 
of  the  night,  where  the  living  had  just  passed  to  the 
rest  of  death,  the  decanter  kept  its  watch  with  the 
•watchers.  The  friends  of  the  deceased  came  to  look 
once  more  upon  the  dead,  and  stopped  at  the  side- 
board as  they  passed  out.  The  pall-bearers  tipped  the 


INTRODUCTION. 


xii 

bottle  and  bore  away  their  burden  to  the  home  in  the 
churchyard.  The  father  of  the  writer  once  lost  a 
loved  young  brother.  With  a heart  heavy  with  grief, 
he  took  the  jug,  and  at  the  rumsliop,  which  was  beg- 
garing the  family,  purchased  rum  to  treat  the  friends 
at  the  funeral.  What  wonder,  then,  that  Intemper- 
ance, like  the  red  plough-share  of  ruin,  went  under 
every  hearth. 

A missionary  once  found  a heathen  mother  in  tears. 
She  wrung  her  hands  as  she  left  her  hot  kisses  upon 
the  bloodless  lips  of  a beautiful  child,  calm  in  the 
slumbers  of  death.  The  little  treasure  had  been  bit- 
ten by  a serpent.  The  woman  was  one  of  the  serpent- 
worshippers,  and  the  reptile,  which  had  robbed  her  of 
her  first  and  only  child,  lay  coiled  at  the  hearthside 
of  the  home  it  had  made  desolate,  safe  from  the  aveng- 
ing hand  of  the  superstitious  mother.  She  would 
not  destroy  it.  Need  we  wonder  at  the  superstition  of 
the  benighted  heathen  ? To-day,  America  is  a nation 
of  serpent-worshippers . W e look  around  us,  and  how 
many  homes  are  there  where  the  serpent  is  coiled,  yet 
madlv  cherished  by  those  who  have  mourned  the 
loved  and  the  good,  poisoned  to  death  by  its  fangs ! 
And  at  the  same  time  we  see  a great  and  free  people 
hesitating  about  crushing  these  serpents ! The  darker 
rites  and  fearful  religion  of  the  poor  Pagan  can  but 
share  our  sympathies. 

We  are  proud  of  our  country  and  its  institutions. 
There  is  no  land  like  our  land ; no  people  like  our  peo- 
ple ; no  lakes  like  our  lakes ; no  streams  like  our 
streams;  no  prairies  like  our  prairies,  or  mountains 


INTRODUCTION, 


Xlll 


like  our  mountains,  as  they  sit  upon  a continent  and 
nod  to  each  other  in  the  clouds.  American  enterprize 
and  American  genius,  inventive  and  literary,  is  start- 
ling a world  from  its  slumbers.  The  heart  of  our  Re- 
public throbs  upon  two  shores ; and  yet,  at  the  heart 
of  all  our  free  institutions  a cancer  is  tugging  with 
never-resting  energy.  For  its  removal,  Christians  and 
philanthropists  are  marshalling. 

It  is  but  little  over  one-quarter  of  a century  since 
a land  so  favored  groaned  in  bondage  unbroken.  No 
light  had  broke  in  : no  star  had  beamed  out  to  guide 
our  wise  men  to  a Saviour.  Humanity  wept  over  the 
desolations.  Patriotism  saw  its  first  stars  pale  and  set 
in  darkness.  Religion  saw  its  most  gifted  ones  fall  to 
rise  no  more.  The  strongest  were  in  shackles,  and 
the  friend  of  his  country  and  of  man  looked  out  sad- 
ly upon  the  scene,  and  saw  no  morning  light  in  the 
dark  night.  Foreigners  stigmatized  us  as  a nation  of 
drunkards.  Thus,  unobstructed,  the  work  went  on. 
The  great  deep  of  popular  opinion  had  not  been  stir- 
red by  a single  breath,  but  lay  in  its  stillness  until 
miasma  had  bred  in  its  sluggish  bosom,  and  rolled  up 
to  sicken  and  destroy.  The  thunder  of  popular  will 
slumbered  uninvoked  in  the  ballot-box,  or  like  the 
three-mouthed  dog  of  hell,  sleeplessly  guarded  the 
wrongs  there  entrenched.  A scourge  was  abroad  in 
the  land,  yet  a free  and  Christian  people  slept  over 
their  wrongs,  and  yielded  without  an  effort,  to  the  an- 
nual conscription  of  Intemperance. 

But  a better  era  was  to  dawn  upon  our  country. 
A brazen  serpent  was  lifted.  The  trumpet  blasts  of 


XIV 


INTRODUCTION. 


a Beecher  and  a Kittridge  startled  the  petrified  city 
into  life.  The  plume  tossed  in  the  conflict,  the  war- 
horse  plunged  and  chafed,  and  in  the  light  of  the  com- 
ing morning  the  banner  of  temperance  rolled  out 
like  a beacon  of  hope  and  promise  to  gladden  a world. 
A breath  has  swept  the  valley  of  Hinnom,  and  the 
sleepers  arise.  The  ocean  is  swept  by  the  storm,  and 
hope  springs  up  in  the  human  heart.  The  light  comes 
slowly,  but  it  bears  healing  upon  its  wings,  and  her- 
alds redemption  to  a rum-scourged  world.  There  is 
joy  in  heaven  and  upon  earth.  The  mother  weeps 
tears  of  joy,  and  clasps  her  child  to  her  bosom  with  a 
prayer  of  gratitude  for  the  promise  which  speaks  of  a 
better  day  for  her  and  hers.  And  so  the  great  moral 
revolution  has  commenced — a war  of  extermination, 
ending  only  when  the  rum  traffic  shall  exist  no  long- 
er. A free  people  are  girding  for  the  conflict  with  a 
hoary  curse,  saying  to  its  armies,  as  they  wage  the 
strife  from  pillar  to  pillar — 11  Thus  far,  and  no  farther.” 
The  history  of  the  Temperance  Reformation  is  not 
yet  written.  The  strife  is  yet  in  progress.  But  that 
history  will  occupy  the  brightest  pages  of -our  coun- 
try’s annals,  and  command  the  admiration  of  the  world. 
W e look  back  with  a full  heart  and  kindling  eye  upon 
that  history.  There  is  a moral  sublimity  and  beauty 
in  the  record.  It  is  like  the  beaming  of  the  setting 
sunlight  across  the  ocean.  Storms  may  have  swept 
the  surface,  and  its  waves  dashed  angrily  upon  the 
shore ; but  in  its  calm  there  is  a wake  of  crimson  and 
gold — a beautiful  pathway,  where  angels  might  tread. 
The  course  of  our  reform  has  been  marked  by  the 


iNiKODUCTIOX. 


xy 


most  important  results.  It  has  carried  blessings  to 
myriads  of  hearts  and  homes.  There  is  an  angel  in 
its  waters,  and  peace,  happiness  and  hope  spring  up 
where  desolation  has  withered  up  the  greenness  of 
earth.  It  is  destined  to  revolutionize  the  sentiment 
of  a world.  It  enlists  all  that  is  lovely  and  noble  in 
the  human  heart — the  eloquence  of  poetry,  and  the 
inspiration  of  genius;  the  fervor  of  patriotism,  and 
the  zeal  of  religion.  Its  principles  are  as  plain  to  the 
mind  as  the  sun  at  mid-day,  and  as  just  as  God.  It  is 
the  gospel  of  redemption  to  a rum-cursed  world — the 
John  the  Baptist  of  the  Christian  religion.  Like 
the  Christian  religion,  its  fruits  bear  full  evidence  of 
its  blessed  character.  When  John  heralded  the  com- 
ing of  the  Saviour,  he  did  not  startle  the  world  by  the 
brilliancy  of  his  promises.  He  did  not  announce  that 
Christ  was  coming  with  a crown  of  gold  upon  his 
head  and  a monarch’s  sceptre  in  his  hand,  with  legions 
of  conquering  warriors  bristling  in  armor,  and  in  his 
train  the  kings  and  princes — the  rich,  and  powerful, 
and  elite  of  earth.  No : the  dumb  should  speak,  the 
deaf  should  hear,  the  blind  -see,  the  lame  walk,  the 
dead  be  raised,  and  the  gospel  be  preached  to  the  poor. 
And  thus  along  the  pathway  of  Christianity,  wher- 
ever its  spirit  has  gained  a foothold,  there  are  eloquent 
records  of  its  principles  and  influences.  So  with  the 
Temperance  Reform.  rPhe  heralds  did  not  announce 
that  the  fashionable  and  the  wealthy,  the  titled  great, 
the  monied  aristocracy  of  the  land,  would  exclusively 
lend  it  their  countenance.  But  the  blind  have  seen, 
the  deaf  have  heard,  the  stone  has  been  rolled  away 


XVI 


INTRODUCTION. 


from  the  grave  of  drunkenness,  and  the  lost  restored  ; 
devils  have  been  cast  out  of  those  cut  among  the 
tombs,  and  its  gospel  has  been  preached  to  the  poor. 
The  reform  was  designed  by  a kind  God  to  lift  up  and 
restore  poor  fallen  humanity,  and  not  to  add  brilliancy 
to  fashion,  or  popularity  to  men.  The  prodigals,  who 
have  wasted  all  in  riotous  living  and  hungered  for  the 
husks,  have  turned  back  from  their  dark  wanderings, 
and  the  temperance  cause  has  met  them  half-way,  and 
rejoiced  that  the  lost  were  found.  The  so-called  fash- 
ionable have  murmured,  and  turned  away  with  scorn 
from  such  manifestations.  They  would  so  have  scorn- 
ed the  meek  Saviour,  because  he  called  after  the  sin- 
ner, and  wept  with  and  comforted  the  poor  and 
afflicted. 

The  hand  of  Providence  has  marked  the  course  of 
our  cause.  Step  by  step  it  has  moved  onward,  ever 
going  deeper  into  the  hearts  and  consciences  of  men. 
It  has  had  its  reverses,  as  has  every  great  moral  revo- 
lution which  has  agitated  the  world ; but  its  first  stand- 
ard, “torn  but  flying,”  floats  out  prouder  to-day  than 
ever  before.  There  is  a hydra  influence  against  it — * 
one  sleepless  and  gigantic.  But  ours  is  the  majority, 
for  God  is  with  us.  At  times  it  has  been  beaten — its 
waves  have  rolled  back  and  again  mingled  with  their 
kindred  waters ; but  they  have  returned  to  the  shock 
with  other  waves  and  deeper  flow,  sweeping  on  with 
the  strength  and  grandeur  of  its  power.  Wealth  has 
opposed  it — fashion  has  sneered  at  it — interest  has 
fought  it — demagogues  have  stabbed  it,  and  Iscariots 
have  betrayed  and  sold  it ; but,  like  the  oak  matured 


INTRODUCTION. 


XVII 


in  the  storm,  it  has  taken  root,  until  its  towering  trunk 
sways  defiance  to  the  fiercest  wrath  of  the  tempest. 
And  it  will  live,  and  flourish,  and  gloriously  triumph. 

The  blessings  of  the  Temperance  Eeform  are  suffi- 
cient to  reward  for  an  age  of  effort.  One  home  made 
joyous — one  broken  heart  healed  and  made  happy' — • 
one  man  restored  to  manhood,  family,  society  and  God 
— is  a prouder  and  more  enduring  monument  than 
ever  towered  in  marble.  What  a change  it  has 
wrought  in  public  sentiment ! Look  back — and  many 
of  us  can  remember  it — to  the  time  when  tippling  was 
interwoven  with  every  custom  of  society,  and  infancy 
sucked  drunkenness  from  the  mother’s  breast.  We 
know  that  intemperance  yet  sits  like  a nightmare 
upon  the  bosom  of  society ; but  there  are  millions  of 
homes,  and  fields,  and  systems  from  which  it  has  been 
forever  banished.  Where  is  now  the  physician  that 
prescribes  rum  to  the  mother,  or  a mother  who  swal- 
lows such  prescriptions,  or  feeds  them  to  the  child  ? 
Where  is  the  family  table  where  the  morning  bitters 
sit  with  the  food  which  gives  life  and  strength? 
Where  is  the  mechanic  who  carries  it  to  his  shop  ? The 
farmer  who  furnishes  it  to  his  laborers  in  the  field  ? 
The  marriage  where  the  health  and  happiness  of  the 
bride  must  be  given  in  wine  ? The  funeral  where  it 
must  mingle  with  the  tears  of  the  bereaved  ? They 
are  scarce.  A blessed  light  has  dawned  upon  com- 
munity, and  it  is  found  that  man  can  be  born,  mar- 
ried, and  die  without  the  spirit  of  alcohol. 

In  the  progress  of  the  reform,  nearer  and  still  near- 
er to  the  enemy,  the  ground  has  been  broken.  The 


xvm 


INTRODUCTION. 


first  position  was  not  the  one  of  to-day.  The  old 
pledge  was  the  entering  wedge,  but  it  did  not  banish 
the  insidious  tempter  from  our  own  ranks.  It  coiled 
still  in  the  wine  cup,  and  in  the  more  common  alco- 
holic beverages.  Experience  demonstrated  the  folly 
of  chaining  the  mad  dog,  and  the  total  abstinence 
pledge  was  adopted.  Then  came  a war  among  tem- 
perance men,  but  the  right  triumphed ; for,  it  was 
found  that  the  old  pledge  was  a dangerous  ground  for 
drinking  men.  Then  came  the  Washingtonian  move- 
ment, like  a storm,  and  its  floods  swept  on  with  start- 
ling intensity  and  power.  There  are  ten  thousand 
trophies  where  it  moved ; but  the  force  of  the  torrent 
long  since  spent  itself.  The  flames  have  died  out  upon 
its  altars,  as  a general  thing,  and  its  legions  disbanded, 
or  enlisted  in  new  organizations.  Something  more 
systematic  was  demanded.  An  organization  more  con- 
centrated, and  ever  active,  was  called  for,  to  retain 
old  ground  and  win  new  fields — one  which  should 
throw  a shield  around  the  inebriate,  and  retain  him 
by  influences  always  appealing  to  his  manhood  and 
love  of  home.  The  exigency  brought  out  the  thing 
needed,  and  the  triple  emblem  of  the  Red,  White  and 
Blue,  was  lifted  to  the  world.  Under  its  broad  folds, 
an  army  of  freemen  has  gathered,  such  as  the  world 
has  never  seen  before.  The  tread  of  that  army  sounds 
the  doom  of  the  rum  traffic. 

In  the  commencement  of  our  reform,  and  for  a 
number  of  years,  the  mass  of  its  friends  considered 
“ moral  suasion  ” as  the  only  means  of  success.  It 
would  have  accomplished  its  work,  were  all  men  sus- 


INTRODUCTION. 


XIX 


ceptible  to  moral  influences.  But  it  would  not  answer 
the  ends  designed.  While  human  nature  is  such  as 
to  require  penal  laws  in  the  restraint  and  punishment 
of  its  excesses,  moral  influences  will  never  keep  man 
from  the  commission  of  wrong.  God’s  government  is 
not  based  upon  moral  suasion  alone.  His  laws  are 
prohibitory,  as  are  the  laws  upon  our  statute  books. 
And  against  all  this  array  of  enactments,  human  and 
divine,  wicked  men  continue  to  trample  upon  the 
rights  of  others.  If  laws  will  not  prevent  the  com- 
mission of  wrong,  who  would  expect  moral  influ- 
ences alone  to  protect  the  interests  of  society  from  the 
vicious  and  abandoned  ? And  more  especially  would 
it  fall  far  short  of  accomplishing  such  an  object,  when 
coming  in  contact  with  evils  sustained  and  guarded  by 
legislation . Never,  while  avarice  has  a home  in  the 
human  heart,  can  bad  men  be  influenced,  by  moral 
considerations,  to  abandon  a traffic  which  law  toler- 
ates, and  protects,  and  clothes  with  respectability. 
With  a license  law  existing  and  shielding  the  seller 
from  punishment,  how  long  before  he  could  be  pre- 
vailed upon  to  abandon  a lucrative  business  ? Time 
might  end  and  find  the  traffic  in  its  full  strength,  and 
those  engaged  in  it  as  indifferent  to  our  entreaties  and 
appeals,  as  they  are  to-day. 

It  was  seen  that  the  fountain  must  be  dried — the 
Upas  uprooted  and  destroyed  forever.  Hence  the  idea 
of  prohibition  and  protection.  And  this  sentiment 
finds  a response  in  the  hearts  of  the  friends  of  the 
cause,  enthusiastic  and  unanimous.  Here  is  the  great 
battle-ground,  and  around  this  banner  the  contending 


XX 


INTBODUCTION. 


interests  are  rallying.  Eloquence  lias  been  spent  in 
vain  heretofore,  so  far  as  having  any  effect  upon  those 
engaged  in  the  traffic.  God’s  truth  has  thundered 
against  them.  Facts  have  been  piled  on  facts,  until 
they  tower  in  fearful  judgment  against  them.  Ar- 
guments, unanswerable,  have  been  adduced,  and  ap- 
peals of  the  most  earnest  and  touching  pathos  been 
made.  All  has  been  in  vain.  Entrenched  behind 
law,  and  flanked  by  the  unscrupulous  demagogueism 
of  the  country,  they  have  looked  unmoved  upon  the 
ruin  wrought  by  their  own  hands,  and  laughed  all  our 
efforts  to  scorn.  A new  system  of  warfare  must  be 
adopted,  or  the  strife  would  be  for  time.  As  in  times 
past,  so  Providence,  at  this  juncture,  directed  the 
movements.  Then  appeared  a light  in  the  east,  and 
clear  and  startling  above  the  din  of  the  strife,  came  a 
new  battle  cry,  thrilling  like  an  electric  shock,  and 
everywhere  arousing  our  wearied  hosts.  A new  ban- 
ner out,  and  its  magic  words  have  filled  all  hearts  with 
zeal,  faith  and  hope.  “ The  Maine  Law  ” is  an  em- 
blem of  triumph.  It  is  the  mystic  writing  upon  the 
wall,  announcing  the  downfall  of  the  Babylon  whose 
iniquites  have  so  long  cursed  the  earth,  and  political 
Belshazzars  already  look  upon  the  record  of  sure 
coming  doom,  and  tremble.  The  new  plan  is  as  sim- 
ple as  potent.  It  embodies,  in  a stringent  form,  the 
principles  of  prohibition  and  protection.  Like  all 
other  laws  for  the  prevention  of  crime,  it  strikes  at 
the  cause,  leaving  the  streams  to  dry  up  when  no 
longer  fed  by  the  fountain.  It  dispenses  with  argu- 
ments and  appeals.  It  leaves  no  dripping  heads  to 


INTRODUCTION. 


XXI 


multiply  others,  but  attacks  the  hydra  in  his  den,  and 
with  the  hot  irons  of  fine  and  imprisonment,  sears  as 
it  goes.  It  destroys  the  traffic  itself.  Like  a complete 
battery,  it  has  been  planted  under  the  very  walls  of 
the  enemy.  Broad  breaches  have  already  been  made 
in  the  very  citadel,  and  the  flushed  legions  of  four 
States  of  the  Union  are  already  pouring  in  for  the  last 
hand-to-hand  conflict.  “Grod  defend  the  Bight”  in 
the  battle. 

Various  instrumentalities  have  operated  in  bringing 
the  Temperance  Beform  up  to  its  present  commanding 
position.  Able  men  have  written  and  spoken,  'and 
from  the  rostrum  and  the  pulpit  public  opinion  has 
been  educated.  But  the  great  engine  has  been  the 
press.  This  giant  friend  of  man  in  a free  country, 
has  scattered  its  light,  its  facts,  arguments  and  appeals, 
into  millions  of  hearts  and  homes.  It  has  invoked  a 
storm  slowly,  but  none  the  less  effectually.  The  mut- 
terings  of  years  past  are  deepening  into  startling  peals, 
and  the  red  language  of  popular  indignation  and  wrath, 
glows  ominously  bright  across  the  sky.  The  deep  of 
public  opinion  is  rocking  to  its  depths. 

The  Temperance  Press,  at  first  struggling  with  al- 
most overwhelming  difficulties,  has  slowly  increased 
in  ability  and  power,  and  to-day  exerts  a controlling 
influence  upon  public  sentiment.  The  literature  of 
our  reform  is  assuming  a more  refined  and  elevated 
character,  and  clothing  great  truths  in  purer  and 
more  attractive  garb;  and  never  was  there  a wider 
field  for  the  exercise  of  intellectual  effort.  The  wild- 
est dreams  of  fiction  seem  tame  in  comparison  with 


XXII 


INTK0DUCTI0N. 


the  stern  and  sober  realities  of  onr  cause.  Tragedies, 
more  fearfully  dark  and  startling  than  Avon’s  bard 
ever  sketched,  are  thickly  traced  on  the  record  of 
rum’s  history.  Scenes  which  would  mock  the  artist’s 
pencil  are  of  daily  occurrence.  The  desolate  home, 
with  its  heart-broken  wife  and  mother,  with  her  pale 
cheek  channelled  with  tears  of  unutterable  woe,  as 
she  bends  weeping  over  the  drunken  wreck  of  her 
youth’s  idol ; the  child-group  shivering  in  the  blast,  or 
clinging  to  that  mother,  as  they  moan  for  bread ; the 
orphan  turned  out,  with  no  friend  but  God,  into  the 
wide  world ; youth  wrecked  and  palsied  with  prema- 
ture age ; manhood  reeling  amid  the  ruins  of  mind 
and  moral  beauty,  the  sepulchre  of  a thousand  hopes ; 
genius  drivelling  in  idiocy  and  crumbling  into  ruin  ; 
the  virtuous  and  noble-minded  turning  away  from 
truth  and  honor,  and  plunging  into  every  vice ; the 
parent  and  citizen  wandering  away  from  a home-heav- 
en, through  a devious  and  dark  pilgrimage,  to  a dis- 
honored grave — the  home-idol  shivered  and  broken, 
the  altar  cast  down,  and  an  Eden  transformed  into  a 
hell;  childhood  and  innocence  thrust  out  from  the 
lovelight  of  a mother’s  eye,  to  wallow  in  all  that  is 
low  and  vile  ; Poverty  and  Want  looking  with  pinch- 
ed and  piteous  gaze  upon  the  scanty  tribute  of  charity ; 
foul  and  festering  Vice,  with  sickly  and  bloated  fea- 
tures, leering  and  droolling  in  licentious  beastiality ; 
Madness,  with  fiery  eye  and  haggard  mien,  weeping 
and  wailing  and  cursing  in  the  rayless  night  of  intel- 
lectual chaos  ; Crime,  with  its  infernal  1 ha ! ha  !’  as  it 
stalks  forth  from  its  work  of  death,  with  its  red  hand 


INTRODUCTION. 


XX111 


dripping  with  the  hot  and  smoking  life-tide  of  its  vic- 
tim ; — these,  and  ten  thousand  other  combinations  of 
warp  and  woof,  are  woven  into  tales  of  wondrous  in- 
tensity and  power.  The  hovel,  the  dram-shop,  the 
subterranean  den,  and  the  mansion  of  fashion  and 
wealth,  have  all  furnished  the  material  for  tales  of 
startling,  interest.  When  fiction  even  has  called  up 
its  weird  creations,  they  have  been  but  copies  of  the 
facts  already  transpired.  The  moral  is  always  there. 
Thus  poetry  and  romance  have  combined  to  place  the 
realities  of  two  opposing  principles  in  striking  con- 
trast. Such  is  the  object  of  the  following  tale,  from 
the  perusal  of  which  we  will  no  longer  detain  the  kind 
reader.  That  the  Maine  Law  may  triumph,  and  the 
dark  shadow  of  Intemperance  pass  away,  is  the  ear- 
nest prayer  of  him  who  has  thus  far  claimed  attention. 
The  door  is  open,  and  the  reader  can  go  in  and  ex- 
amine the  structure  of  the  author’s  fabric  at  leisure. 

T.  w.  b.  * 


DICK  WILSON. 


CHAPTER  I. 

FUTURE  PLANS  AND  PROSPECTS. 

“ Thou  who,  securely  lull’d  in  Youth’s  warm  ray, 

Mark’st  not  the  desolations  wrought  by  Wine ! 

Be  roused,  or  perish  ! Ardent  for  its  prey, 

Speeds  the  fell  curse,  that  ravages  thy  prime.” 

Friends  of  Humanity ! Heaven  is  in  the  great 
effort  which  is  now  being  made  against  the  rum  traffic. 
God  designs  that  this  great  national  disgrace, — this 
plague-spot  upon  the  pages  of  civil  law, — shall  be 
wiped  out  by  a bloodless  revolution.  And  the  many 
voices  of  the  same  God,  coming  through  unmistaka- 
ble agencies,  are  summoning  you  to  the  spot  where 
Humanity  and  Temperance  erected  their  pure  white 
standard;  and  where  soon,  by  the  blessing  of  God, 
and  the  assistance  of  those  who  love  peace,  you  are 
expected  to  do  just  what  others  have  done  in  Maine,' — 
“ Rout  the  rumseller!” 

“ Ah!  then,  this  means  me,  does  it?”  says  a distil- 


26 


DICK  WILSON. 


ler,  hard  by.  “I  won’t  read  a word  of  it, — no,  in- 
deed ! It  is  a shame  that  people  * won’t  mind  their 
own  business.  I tell  yon  what  I will  do, — I will  fight 
against  this  effort  nntil  the  very  death  I” 

“ This  is  agitating  the  subject  of  white  slavery  /”  say 
the  genteel  apologists  for  this  immeasurable  curse; 
“ equal  rights  for  the  people , is  my  motto,”  says  the 
time-serving  pohtician ; “we  must  be  up  in  arms 
against  it ; if  we  do  not,  our  craft  and  our  trade  will 
go  down  together,”  says  the  trembling  rumseller. 

Yes,  enemies  of  mankind,  it  is  precisely  so ; and  as 
Delilah  said  to  Samson,  so  we  would  say  to  you, — the 
Philistines,  are  upon  you ! 

You  Jcnow  very  well  that  Humanity,  in  all  her 
forms,  has  appealed  to  you,  and  craved  your  mercy, 
— that  your  work  is  wicked,  and  that  its  tendency  is 
brutalizing  in  the  extreme.  The  ragged,  starving, 
trembling  child,' — the  father,  the  mother,  the  brother, 
and  the  sister,  have  invoked  your  compassion.  But 
to  what  purpose  ? 

The  poor-house,  the  prison,  the  gallows,  the  suicide, 
— have,  with  one  voice,  besought  you  to  desist.  But 
to  what  purpose  are  these  most  fearful  of  exhibitions 
that  can  be  made  upon  the  earth,  and  of  which  you 
are  the  architect?  Have  they  moved  you  to -mercy? 
No ! These  facts  have  had  no  impression ; but  like  a 
rival  Juggernaut,  you  have  moved  on  your  ponderous, 
crushing  car ! and  the  warm,  fresh  blood  of  your  vie- 


FUTURE  PLANS  AND  PROSPECTS.  27 

tims  still  rises  in  your  path,  and  is  invoking  the  ven- 
geance of  God  upon  your  cruelty. 

Humanity  has  appealed  to  you  in  every  form, — by 
every  argument, — until  her  very  charity  has  lost  all 
confidence ; and  hopeless,  and  in  tears,  she  has  turn- 
ed to  the  humane,  the  noble,  and  the  virtuous ; and 
when  these  are  fairly  marshalled  in  the  order  of  legis- 
lative battle,  you  must  disband, — disband,  as  did  your 
fellow  craft,  in  the  gallant  State  of  Maine. 

Remember — Remember  the  battle  of  Maine!  for  it 
loosened  your  foundations  throughout  the  dominion  of 
civilization.  The  next  music  you  hear  will  be  the  voices 
of  little  children  chanting  in  ecstasy  the  rumseller’s 
doom:  “ The  rumselling  Babylon  is  fallen — fallen 
- — FALLEN — to  curse  humanity  no  more  forever  I” 

Friend  of  humanity ! are  you  a father,  standing  at 
the  threshold  of  your  own  door,  and  holding  in  your 
own  hand,  with  a warm,  parental  grasp,  that  of  your 
son,  for  whom,  and  for  yourself,  the  endearing  asso- 
sociations  of  the  past  are,  to  a great  extent,  to  be 
broken  up  forever  ? You  expect  to  remain  under  the 
shelter  of  your  own  roof ; but  your  boy — your  proud, 
noble  boy — the  object  to  which  your  hopes  are  cling- 
ing— he  is  going  out  into  the  1 ‘wide,  wide  world,”  of 
trials  and  temptations. 

But  then,  why  do  you  weep  ? Why  do  you  linger, 
as  if  you  were  unwilling  that  the  word  of  parting 
should  ever  leave  your  lips  ? 


28 


DICK  WILSON. 


Ah,  yes,'  father,  you  know  why  it  is.  The  big  tear 
starting  from  your  eye  is  sparkling  with  the  interpre- 
tation. Oh ! yes ; it  is  the  recognition  of  the  rumsel- 
ler’s  ability  to  cut  off  all  your  expectations;  and, 
finally,  to  cut  off  your  boy ! — and  you  do  well  to 
weep.  But  remember  that  timely  action  may  save 
you,  in  your  old  age,  those  bitterest  of  all  tears — the 
untimely  and  unavailing. 

Mother ! — dearest  of  earthly  names — most  precious 
treasure  which  God  reserves  to  the  child  on  earth — 
mother,  why  do  you  weep,  as  your  boy  goes  forth  from 
your  home?  Why  does  that  silent  ejaculation,  which 
can  only  find  an  overflowing  fulness  in  the  deep 
storehouse  of  a mother’s  love,  so  often  go  out  from 
your  heart?  — “God  bless  and  preserve  my  dear 
boy !” 

Brother — sister — friend!  Why  do  you  weep  as 
your  several  relations  in  life  are  broken  up  by  the  de- 
parture of  dear  ones?  These  may  all  come  back 
again.  Yes,  and  who  knows  this  better,  or  hopes 
more  fervently  far  it,  than  you  do  ? Wherefore,  then, 
dost  thou  weep  ? 

Do  you  see — and,  perchance,  not  far  off,  in  the  fu- 
ture— a loved  one  straying  back  again,  a wasted 
wreck  ? Ah  ! if  tears  have  the  power  to  strengthen 
the  weak,  you  do  well  to  shed  them  freely ; for  the 
rumseller  has  a fearful  power.  He  has  the  power  to 
crush,  by  his  cruel  machinery,  the  finest  form  and  the 


FUTURE  PLANS  AND  PROSPECTS.  29 

noblest  intellect,  and  fashion  the  likeness  of  the  in- 
visible God  into  the  similitude  of  a beast ! 

A sense  of  sadness  always  steals  its  way,  and  min- 
gles freely  in  the  associations  of  an  hour,  in  which 
loved  ones  are  called  to  part. 

Such  a sadness  as  this  seldom  fails  to  throw  itself 
about  the  evening  of  a college  commencement-day; 
and  it  is  natural,  as  well  as  fitting,  that  it  should  be 
so.  In  circumstances  like  these,  relations  and  asso- 
ciations, which  are  only  to  be  surpassed  by  the  en- 
dearing ties  of  home,  are  to  be  broken  up.  Hearts, 
which  have  been  knit  together  and  interwoven  with 
each  other  by  the  intimate  and  sweet  communion 
of  several  years,  it  may  be,  are  now  to  be  parted. 
Their  paths  are  to  be  divided,  and  the  pleasant  se- 
clusion of  a college  life,  with  all  its  local  associations 
and  life-like  memories,  are  to  be  exchanged  for  the 
stern  warfare  of  real  existence, — one  for  which  the 
wisest  is  but  poorly  girded, — a tournament  in  which, 
often,  the  lance  of  the  generous  young  warrior  is 
shivered  in  his  hand  by  a powerful  antagonist, 
and  himself  thrown  prostrate  and  bleeding  to  the 
ground. 

It  was  on  one  of  those  beautiful  and  never-to-be- 
forgotten  evenings,  which  seldom  fail  to  throw  a mel- 
ancholy, love-like  radiance  about  the  closing  scenes 
of  a commencement-day,  in  a dear  old  college  in  west- 
ern Pennsylvania,  in  whose  history  many  a one  in  this 


30 


DICK  WILSON. 


wide  land  is  associated,  and  in  whose  affections  it  will 
never  lose  its  place. 

It  was  on  the  evening  of  one  of  those  lovely 
days,  in  the  latter  part  of  September,  184 — , that 
Frank  Hamilton  entered  the  room  of  Dick  Wil- 
son, to  bid  his  more  than  “ college  chum”  good- 
bye. These  young  men  were  as  warm  friends — not 
from  necessity,  but  choice — as  ever  were  united 
within  the  dominions  of  that  venerable  enclosure, 
from  its  rude  “log  cabin”  to  its  stately  pile  of  brick. 

Their  time  had  come  to  part — their  college  hours 
were  all  lived  out,  to  the  very  end ; and  yet  they 
lingered  in  the  presence  of  that  passing  moment,  as 
if  they  would  fain  protract,  into  years  again,  that 
which  just  then  was  passing  with  a whirlwind’s  haste. 

It  was  natural  enough  that  these  young  men 
should  feel  so.  This  same  feeling  has  clung  to  a 
thousand  partings  which  have  taken  place  there. 
They  were  to  part  with  ft  numerous  band  of  other 
young  men,  whom  they  coiild  only  hope  to  meet  again, 
if  ever,  on  the  stormy  ocean  of  life ; and  whose  huge 
billows,  they  knew,  would  at  last  roll  over  the  graves 
of  all.  But  did  it  occur  to  them  that  some  would 
go  down  earlier,  and  some  later, — that  some  would 
go  down  in  brightness,  and  some  in  gloom  ? 

But  old  Dr.  B , whose  kindness  was  a pro- 

verb, with  all  his  eccentricities, — to  part  with  him — 
to  hear  that  voice  no  more,  perhaps,  forever — -the 


FUTURE  PLANS  AND  PROSPECTS. 


31 


voice  to  which  they  had  been  so  well  accustomed  to 
listen — -the  same  which  had  given  them  a kindly 
welcome  on  their  first  arrival  within  its  walls — the 
same  from  which  they  were  accustomed  to  hear  the 
truths  of  religion  and  the  lessons  of  science;  this 
voice — to  hear  it  no  more  upon  the  earth,  was  far 
from  being  the  least  powerful  of  the  influences  with 
which  that  moment  was  filled  to  overflowing. 

Frank  Hamilton  and  Dick  Wilson  were  class- 
mates. They  had  been  thrown  together  strangers ; 
but  strangeness  had  passed  away  before  the  mystic 
minglings  of  kindred  spirits  with  kindred  tastes  and 
sympathies,  and  they  were  friends,  to  each  of  whom 
the  “ good-bye”  was  a cheerless  sound. 

It  was  a difficult  matter  for  them  to  part.  They 
looked  at  each  other  intently,  as  if  searching  for 
some  portion  of  their  future  history.  They  looked 
about  upon  the  walls  of  that  old  room,  with  every 
square  inch  of  which  they  seemed,  at  that  moment, 
to  have  a wonderful  familiarity.  Why  did  these 
young  men  hesitate  to  go?  The  homes,  towards 
which  they  were  about  to  return  again,  were  wait- 
ing to  welcome  them ; and  yet  they  wept ! Was 
the  unseen  spirit  of  some  departed  one  at  that  mo- 
ment communicating  to  them  the  facts  in  their  fu- 
ture history  ? Did  they  see,  a little  way  off  in  the 
future,  some  gloomy  monster  upon  whom  almighty 
vengeance  had  written  fiend , rising  to  obstruct  their 


32 


DICK  WILSON. 


path?  Were  they  gifted  at  that  moment,  with  the 
view  of  the  rumseller’s  power  over  human  character 
and  human  destiny  ? No  ! surely  they  were  not, 
or  the  buoyant  aspirations  of  their  hearts  would  have 
been  chilled  to  icy  coldness. 

“Well,  Dick,”  said  Frank  Hamilton,  after  some 
evident  emotion,  “ I have  come  to  say  farewell, 
but,  my  dear  fellow,  I did  not  realize,  until  this  mo- 
ment, how  difficult  it  would  be  to  part  with  you. 
But  the  fact  is,  Dick,  our  business  here  is  all  over' — 
our  work  is  done,  and  we  must  go,  and  make  room  for 
those  who  are  to  succeed  us.  It  grieves  me  to  think 
how  soon  we  shall  be  forgotten  on  these  grounds; 
for,  with  the  coming  of  the  next  session  the  stranger 
will  come,  and  some  one  or  more,  as  the  case  may  be, 
or  as  necessity  may  require,  will  take  up  their  abode 
in  this  old  third-story  room  of  yours,  in  which  we 
have  spent  so  many  pleasant  hours  together,  and 
around  every  part  of  which,  at  this  moment,  I see 
pleasant  associations  clustering.  With  these  new 
faces  will  come  a train  of  new  feeling,  and  new  asso- 
ciations, and  new  interests;  and  these  new  creations 
will  cluster  about  these  walls,  and  mingle  with  this 
atmosphere,  as  gaily  and  as  lovingly  as  ours  do  now. 
But  where,  Dick,  shall  we  be,  when  these  new  asso- 
ciations are  continuing  to  be  formed  here,  through 
many  future  years  ?” 

“ The  Lord  only  knows,  Frank ! I hope,  however, 


FUTURE  PLANS  AND  PROSPECTS. 


33 


that  the  poor  fellow  who  comes  here  next  may  man- 
age to  keep  the  blues  off  as  well  as  I have  done;  but 
then,  I am  in  your  debt,  after  all,  for  a large  share  of 
my  success  in  doing  so.” 

“ Well,  Dick,  you  are  no  doubt  right  when  you  say 
that  the  Lord  knows,  but  the  fact  is,  I should  like  to 
know  something  about  it  myself,  if  it  is  good ; and  if 
it  is  not  good,  then  I don’t  care  particularly  about  being 
very  wise,  so  far  as  that  is  concerned.  After  all,  I 
tell  you,  this  college  life  is  rather  a dreamy  affair. 
There  is  but  little  of  the  hard-fisted,  rough-and-tum- 
ble reality  about  it.  Here  we  are  at  this  moment,  just 
going  out  into  the  world,  and  we  know  but  little  more 
about  it  than  a brace  of  old  monks,  who  have  been 
shut  up  in  their  cloisters  all  the  days  of  their  lives, 
and  what  under  the  heavens  do  they  know  about  its 
wants  and  its  realities  ? W ell,  the  fact  is,  we  are  not 
much  wiser  than  they  are.  We  passed  from  the  nurs- 
ery to  the  school-house — from  the  school-house  to  the 
academy — from  the  academy  to  this  college ; and  I 
think  we  have  kept  one  proverb  about  as  well  as  it  is 
possible  to  keep  it — 1 salute  no  man  by  the  way.’  But 
then,  with  us  it  has  been  the  action  of  necessity  rather 
than  volition.  I am  afraid,  Dick,  after  all,  we  will  be 
forced  to  a conclusion  to  which  young  persons  gene- 
rally do  not  wish  to  come  ; but  old  folks  say  it  is  true, 
and  they  cannot  be  reasoned  out  of  it  either,  that  ‘the 
ways  of  this  world  are  not  always  as  pleasant  as  they 


34 


DICK  WILSOK. 


might  be.’  The  history  of  this  world,  if  those  who 
preceded  us  here  and  elsewhere  are  to  be  believed,  is 
a strange  and  checkered  story,  made  up  of  pleasures 
and  pains,  of  success  and  failures,  of  triumphs  and 
defeats.” 

“Why,  Frank,”  said  Dick  Wilson,  “what  on  the 
earth  is  the  matter  with  you  all  at  once  ? Come,  come, 
my  friend,  shuffle  off  those  unpleasant  reflections ; for 
this,  I am  sure,  is  no  time  for  them.  What  business 
have  they  here  at  such  an  hour  ? I am  sure  we  have 
enough  else  to  think  about  and  talk  about,  without 
disturbing  the  wisdom  of  our  fathers.  If  misfortune 
is  before  us,  it  will  be  time  enough  for  us  to  know  it 
when  it  comes.  All  I will  ask  of  the  surly  old  dame 
is  half  an  hour’s  notice  of  her  coming.  I am  sure  this 
is  fair,  and  then,  if  she  gets  her  paws  on  me,  I will 
surrender ; but  I tell  you,  Frank,  she  must  be  ready 
to  spring  very  soon  after  she  sends  her  compliments, 
or  else  she  will  find  me,  eyes  right,  and  prepared  to 
meet  her.  And  by  the  powers,  Frank,  there  is  an- 
other thing  that  I will  just  mention, — 1 we  are  not  old 
monks.’  If  there  were  such  beings  as  young  monks, 
you  would  be  a precious  sight  nearer  than  you  are. 
But  old  monks  I Frank,  just  think  of  that  again,  and 
you  will  call  it  back ; and  what  is  more  to  be  observ- 
ed just  now,  is  this, — you  had  better  not  compare 
anything,  about  these  quarters,  to  mockery,  or  you 
may  find  yourself  minus  a diploma,  yet.  A monk ! 


FUTURE  PLANS  AND  PROSPECTS. 


85 


Why,  Frank,  this  orthodox  atmosphere  would  stran- 
gle him,  just  as  soon  as  Hibernian  soil  would  kill  a 
snake ; he  couldn’t  live  here  at  all.  Monks,  indeed ! 
Ho,  sir,  I guess  not.  But  come,  shuffle  off  those  un- 
pleasant reflections, — wake  up  from  this  dream  of 
yours ; fling  these  grim  spectres  out  of  your  mind,  and 
select  for  your  motto,  what  I have  selected  for  mine 
— ad  astral' — and  Pluto  himself  can’t  keep  us  from 
winning  the  race.  But,  Frank,  go  on ; say  whatever 
your  inclination  may  lead  you  to  say,  only  don’t  ser- 
monize ; for  you  know  we  have  had  one  of  the  usual 
dimensions  to-day,  already.” 

“Well,  Dick,”  replied  Frank  Hamilton,  “ you  have 
entrenched  yourself  pretty  well, — better  than  I imag- 
ined you  could,  and  much  better  than  I am  able  to 
do.  But  then  let  me  tell  you,  Dick,  it  is  folly  to  kill 
by  sport  what  may  come  as  reality.  You  know  as 
well  as  I do,  that  at  least  a few  get  what  is  called  a 
short  and  a merry  ride  through  life.  How  merry  it 
may  be,  is  what  I could  not  vouch  for ; but  there  is 
no  mistake  about  its  being  short  enough,  to  answer 
those  who  are  in  the  greatest  hurry.  Several  times, 
since  we  met  here  strangers,  our  hearts  have  been 
made  sad  by  the  intelligence  of  the  melancholy  failure 
and  fall  of  those  whose  acquaintance  we  first  formed 
here ; and  it  is  remarkable,  that,  without  a single  ex- 
ception, so  far  as  I know,  they  were  those  who  were 
amongst  the  first  in  every  sense ; and  very  unexpect- 


36 


DICK  WILSON. 


edly  to  themselves,  and  to  ns,  first  in  the  grave  I 
These  dear  fellows,  graduated  as  we  have  done,  and 
went  away  from  here,  as  we  are  about  to  do.  Their 
hopes  were  as  bright  as  ours  are  now,  and  yet  they 
perished  in  the  very  bud,  and  I think  it  is  rather  na- 
tural than  forced,  that  these  premature  wrecks  should 
make  us  thoughtful.  "We  will  leave  here  in  the  morn- 
ing— our  faces  will  once  more  be  turned  towards 
home ; and  kind  friends,  no  doubt,  will  greet  us,  as 
we  cross  the  sacred  threshold.  But  then,  Dick,  home 
will  be  home  no  longer,  in  the  sense  of  our  boyish 
days.  Things,  you  may  depend  upon  it,  will  have 
changed.  The  love  of  the  household  will,  no  doubt, 
be  as  sincere  as  it  ever  was ; but  yet,  each  of  us  will 
find  a change,  which  is  both  natural  and  necessary, 
although  now  we  may  not  be  able  to  conceive  any 
such  thing.  I think  that  we  had  better  make  up  our 
minds  for  hard  times,  and  make  a wise  selection  of 
our  armor ; and  then,  if  they  do  come,  they  will  find 
us  prepared  to  meet  them;  and  if,  after  all,  they 
should  not  come,  why,  we  will  still  be  the  gainers  ra- 
ther than  the  losers.  I tell  you,  Dick,  I am  afraid 
you  would  find  your  half-hour  too  short  at  both  ends, 
to  gird  yourself  for  an  encounter  with  even  a mod- 
erate share  of  adversity.” 

“Frank,”  replied  Dick,  “it  is  more  difficult  for  me 
to  break  away  from  these  associations  than  you  imag- 
ine it  is.  In  fact,  it  is  more  difficult  than  I thought  it 


FUTURE  PLANS  AND  PROSPECTS. 


37 


was.  But  then,  I know  it  must  be  done,  for  we  can’t 
stay  any  longer  here.  The  stranger  wants  to  come ; 
and  now  he  is  waiting  to  succeed  us,  as  we  succeeded 
others.  Ah,  yes ! my  dear  fellow,  he  is  waiting  for 
an  opportunity  to  form  such  sacred  associations  as  ours 
have  been.  Yes,  yes ; he  will  spoil  all  their  beauty 
for  us,  but  then,  it  will  be  to  make  them  beautiful  for 
himself;  and  surely  we  should  not  envy  him  whatever 
pleasures  he  can  get  here.  We  have  been  permitted 
to  paint,  with  the  pencil  of  fancy,  our  living  house- 
holds upon  these  walls;  but  the  poor  fellow  who 
comes  here  next  may  have  nothing  to  paint,  save  what; 
the  grave  has  left  him — the  recollections  of  the  past ! 
Let  him  paint  them,  then! — let  him  enjoy  them,  too, 
and  often,  in  his  hours  of  sadness — let  them  cheer 
him,  and  have  the  power  over  him  to  nerve  him  for- 
ward. You  and  myself,  Frank,  will  be  architects 
somewhere  else.  I never  knew  until  to-day,  how 

much  I thought  of  old  Dr.  B . Those  parting 

words  of  his  to  us,  this  evening,  were  the  evidence  of 
his  solicitude  for  our  future  welfare. — Yo  trifling  cir- 
cumstance will  destroy  his  interest  in  us,  and  his  affec- 
tion for  us ; and  I think  if  it  were  at  all  to  be  desired, 
we  might  be  sure  of  his  prayers.  I must  say,  how- 
ever, that  while  I admired  the  touching  pathos  of  his 
parting  benediction,  that  I did  think  he  was  rather 
too  solicitous  about  our  future,  and  especially  mine. 
I suppose,  howevei,  that  he  would  like  to  see  us  min- 


88 


DICK  WILSON. 


isters,  as  a very  large  proportion  of  the  crop  which 
grows  in  this  soil  is  of  that  kind.  But  this  won’t  do 
for  me.  I think  they  are  good  enough,  and  useful 
enough,  in  their  places,  but  I am  satisfied  that  is  not 
my  place.  Why  do  you  think  he  made  that  singular 
allusion  to  the  rumsellers,  Frank?” 

“ I think,  Dick,  he  has  in  all  probability  heard  of 
some  of  your  fun,  as  you  call  it — perhaps  last  night’s 
spree.” 

u No,  I should  think  not,  Frank.  I would  rather 
attribute  it  to  his  hatred  of  the  rumseller’s  profession; 
and,  by  the  by,  if  he  had  the  entire  control,  rumsel- 
lers, big  and  little,  would  soon  be  a rare  commodity 
in  this  place.  The  fact  is,  I think  he  is  too  severe 
with  those  persons.  But  then,  I don’t  want  you  to 
think  that  I have  any  sympathy  with  them.  I think, 
when  it  is  viewed  narrowly,  that  in  fact  its  virtue  be- 
comes so  small  as  to  be  hardly  visible.  I mean  the 
profession.  These  rumsellers  cry  4 accommodation, 
accommodation !’  and  old  Dungy*  cries  precisely  the 
same  thing.  When  he  comes  in  with  his  basket  of 
taffa , he  cries  4 accommodation,  accommodation!’  and 
says,  it  is  good  for  colds,  coughs,  and  consumptions, 
and  empty  heads,  too  ; and  when  he  has  succeeded  in 
emptying  his  basket  profitably,  and  has  his  change  in 
his  pocket,  I guess  he  could,  if  he  would,  tell  who, 
according  to  his  judgment,  was  most  profitably  ac- 
* A well-known  hawker  in College. 


FUTURE  PLANS  AND  PROSPECTS. 


39 


commodated.  Just  so  with  the  rumsellers  here  and 
elsewhere — they  are  mighty  free  to  accommodate ! 
Oh,  yes ; nothing  but  accommodation ! It  is  their 
profession,  and  they  are  ready  to  spring,  like  lamp- 
lighters, whenever  there  is  a prospect  of  a sixpence  or 
a shilling ; but  the  misfortune  is,  when  they  accom- 
modate in  rum,  the  accommodation  is  all  on  their  side, 
and  no  one  knows  it  better  than  they  do.  No,  sir,  I 
have  no  sympathy  with  them,  and  I want  no  place  in 
this  rum  army.  I intend  to  let  them  alone.  I will 
attend  to  my  business,  and  they  may  attend  to  theirs. 
Here  is  where  I object,  principally,  to  the  old  doctor’s 
advice.  He  wants  us,  as  he  says,  1 first  of  all,  for  our 
safety,  to  array  ourselves  against  it.’  Well;  first  of 
all,  I can’t  believe  it  can  harm  ys  ; and  then,  I have 
no  disposition  to  do  it.  It  is  a fine  idea,  indeed,  that 
two  young  men,  who  are  just  going  out  into  the 
world,  and  who  have  the  profession  of  law  in  view, 
should  be  called  to  take  the  unpopular  side  of  any 
question,  and  then  make  it  a hobby  upon  which  to 
ride  themselves  out  of  reach  of  every  reasonable  pros- 
pect. I won’t  do  it.  I expect  to  be  in  Congress,  or 
somewhere  else,  some  day,  and  marching  after  that 
music  would  lead  anywhere  else.  No,  no  ; not  I ! If 
ne  wants  that  done,  he  must  turn  out  the  Hack  coats 0 
and  if  they  fail,  no  one  will  mind  it.  Don’t  you  think 
I am  about  right,  Frank  ?” 

“ Dick,  I must  be  candid  with  you.  Words  live 


40 


DICK  WILSON. 


forever,  and  it  is  better  to  speak  them  wisely.  I must 
say  that  I think  you  are  wrong,  all  wrong  in  this  mat- 
ter. You  intimated  that  if  it  were  a matter  of  import- 
ance, you  thought  we  might  safely  reckon  on  the  old 
doctor’s  prayers.  Do  you  think,  that  the  prayers  of 
that  good  old  man,  following  us  out  into  the  world, 
would  be  likely  to  do  us  any  harm  ? For  my  own 
part,  although  I am  not  religious  by  profession,  there 
is  nothing  which  I would  more  desire ; and  I must 
tell  you,  that  the  knowledge  of  the  fact,  that  I have  a 
home,  where  prayers  are  offered  for  me  daily,  has 
made  me  feel  safer ; and  I should  feel  all  the  better  if 
I knew  that  many  more  were  praying  for  me.  Such 
things  will  not  be  likely  to  do  us  any  harm,  and  I am 
sure  that  good  advice  will  be  just  as  unlikely  to  in- 
jure us.  I have  as  good  an  opinion  of  myself  as 
I ought  to  have.  My  hopes  are  as  sanguine  as  I 
would  desire  them  to  be.  I have  painted  my  future 
as  bright  as  I dare  paint  it.  There  is  danger ! True, 
it  may  never  come  to  us.  I hope,  Dick,  it  never  will. 
And  here  is  where  I think  the  prayers  of  that  old 
man,  following  us  out  into  the  world,  would  be  likely 
to  do  us  good.  But  then,  there  is  danger ; and  if  it 
does  not  come  to  us,  it  will  come  to  others.  There 
will  always  be  danger,  while  rumselling  is  permitted 
— and  circumstances  favoring  it,  it  will  be  just  as  pow- 
erful to  accomplish  our  ruin  as  that  of  any  one  else. 
This  is  one  of  the  subjects  for  which  a fitting  illustra 


FUTURE  PLANS  AND  PROSPECTS.  41 

tion  is  always  furnished  to  hand  by  the  monster. 
Take  those  two  boys  to  whom  this  evening  we  have 
given  our  old  clothes.  They  are  sweet,  lovely  chil- 
dren. How  have  we  pitied  them,  whose  wants  we 
have  often  tried  to  supply  ? How  many  times  have 
we  seen  them,  when  it  was  our  conclusion  that  hun- 
ger had  driven  them  from  home?  Think  of  that, 
Dick — driven  from  home  by  hunger ! Then,  who 
occasioned  it  ? You  know  it  was  the  rumseller.  You 
know  that  it  was  their  father’s  familiarity  with  the 
bar-room , that  made  poverty  reign  in  his  house, — that 
sent  the  inmates  out  to  beg.  How  often  have  we 
looked  at  the  apparently  happy  group  of  boys,  en- 
gaged in  play  ? But  these  little  fellows,  if  they  were 
there,  were  generally  at  the  outer  edge  of  the  circle. 
Often  nave  I looked  on,  when  every  countenance  in 
that  group  was  lit  up  with  smiles  but  theirs — every 
heart  appeared  to  be  leaping  with  joy  but  theirs. 
Every  one  in  that  crowd  but  those  two,  little  more 
than  children,  knew  that  they  had  comfortable  homes, 
to  which,  at  the  end  of  their  spo.rts,  they  might  re- 
tire. These  children  had  a shelter — but  who  would 
call  it  a home  ? — only  that  a mother’s  love  was  there. 
"When  I have  looked  at  this,  again  and  again,  I have 
asked  myself  the  question,  ‘ Who  has  robbed  these 
children?’  and  my  better  judgment  has  answered, 
1 The  rumseller  !’  These  boys  were  the  back-ground 
to  every  youthful  sport  in  which  they  mingled,  and  as 


42 


DICK  WILSON. 


sometimes  a rude,  unfeeling  lad  would  taunt  them  for 
their  poverty,  they  would  make  no  reply ; but  their 
countenances  would  seem  to  say- — ‘ Mock  us  not ! It 
is  not  our  fault ; we  are  not  to  blame.  This  misfor- 
tune is  the  rumseller’s  work,  and  not  ours.  We  do 
not  love  these  ragged  clothes;  but  necessity,  of  the 
rumseller’s  creation,  compels  us  to  wear  them.  If  we 
are  hungry,  and  cold,  and  naked,  and  unloved  by  all, 
save  our  dear  mother,  oh,  do  not  reproach  us  for  it— 
for  we  are  innocent  1 Some  of  your  fathers  are  warm- 
ing and  feeding  the  serpent  which  is  stinging  us  to 
death !’  To  me,  Dick,  those  little  fellows,  with  their 
bright  eyes  and  pale  cheeks,  seemed  to  realize  their 
loneliness.  I have  sometimes  thought  that  they  seem- 
ed to  feel  as  if  they  were  uncared  for ; and  if  such 
were  the  feelings  of  those  little  boys,  I know  of  no- 
thing which  would  so  much  tend  to  harden,  to  vitiate, 
and  deprave  their  young  minds.  And  is  this  all  ? Oh, 
no  1 they  are  but  two  out  of  the  thousands  with  which 
the  land  is  teeming.  These  boys  need  a defence — the 
most  powerful  defence ; and  where  are  they  to  find  it  ? 
They  will  not  be  likely  to  find  it  in  the  same  channel 
where  they  find  their  father’s  ruin.  Ah  I no,  indeed, 
these  are  not  the  agencies  to  whom  they  can  confident- 
ly look  for  lessons  of  virtue.  No,  no  ! They  must 
look  somewhere  else  than  to  the  rumseller.  Now, 
Dick,  they  have  a right  to  your  aid  and  mine.  When- 
ever there  is  necessity,  they  shall  have  mine ! This 


43 


FUTUBE  PLANS  AND  PEOSPECTS. 

s 

appears  to  me  to  be  a work  of  the  most  exalted  char- 
acter in  which,  a human  being  could  engage, — a work 
in  which  talents  of  the  most  brilliant  order  might  do 
honor  to  the  possessor,  and  immense,  immeasurable 
good  to  the  little  unfortunates , with  whose  wail  of  sad- 
ness the  land  is  becoming  vocal.  In  my  own  State 
there  are  about  twenty-five  thousand  drunkards ! 
Most  of  these  have  families,  making  the  aggregate 
number  of  sufferers  at  least  one  hundred  thousand  in 
that  single  State.  One  hundred  thousand  sufferers 
bleeding  at  the  hands  of  rumsellers ! What  an  army 
this,  which  is  being  swept  on  to  ruin  ! Collect  it  in 
your  own  mind,  and  then  look  at  it,  and  then  tell  me 
what  work  of  earthly  character  can  be  so  truly  noble 
as  that  which  would  seek  to  restore  them  to  happi- 
ness ? You  are  mistaken  about  this  matter,  or  else  I 
am  ; for  I believe  the  finest  abilities  and  the  rarest  ac- 
complishments will  do  their  mightiest  work  and  get 
their  most  signal  renown  on  this  very  field ; for  God 
will  help  them.  The  conquerors  on  this  field  will 
bring  away  with  them  such  laurels  as  will  never  fade. 
Their  fame  will  be  a living,  cheering,  soul-inspiring 
fame  ! It  will  ascend  up  with  morning  and  evening 
orisons, — from  altars  whose  base  the  rumseller  has 
caused  to  be  saturated  with  tears  ! — -the  widow’s  and 
the  orphan’s  tears  ! From  homes  where  children  have 
starved,  and  from  solitudes  where  beauty  has  pined. 
This  is  the  heaven-born  and  the  heaven-given  meed, 


44 


DICK  WILSON. 


which,  is  awaiting  the  victors  in  this  war.  Gan  it  be 
possible,  Dick,  that  you  intend  to  plead  no  cause  for 
which  you  are  not  paid  in  money,  as  you  once  intimat- 
ed to  me  ? Is  it  possible  that  you  intend  to  leave  the 
fate,  the  character,  the  everything  belonging  to  this 
class,  to  other  hands  than  yours ; and  that  you  will 
have  nothing  to  do  in  aiding  to  heal  their  wounds, — in 
wiping  the  tears  from  their  eyes?  If  so,  I tremble 
for  your  future.  I am  convinced  that  it  is  your  duty 
— that  it  is  my  duty — that  it  is  the  duty  of  every 
man,  woman  and  child — to  war  with  everything 
which  tends  to  disorganize  human  society,  or  taint  it 
with  the  breath  of  putrefaction — whatever  may  tend 
to  depreciate  morals — to  squander  property — to  de- 
stroy health — to  wither  reputation,  or  to  insult  God!” 

“ Well,  well,  Frank,  you  will  find,  I imagine,  and 
I am  sorry  for  it,  that  this  philosophy  won’t  be  very 
profitable  to  you.  It  would  do  very  well  in  the  pul- 
pit, but  it  will  never  do  anything  for  you  at  the  bar.” 
u Well,  then,  Dick,  this  is  my  principal  philosophy, 
and  if  it  should  not  be  current  at  the  bar,  I will  try 
its  currency  in  some  other  avocation.  But  I appre- 
hend no  such  difficulty;  and  I do  believe,  farther, 
that  the  best  way  to  secure  our  safety,  is  to  do  all  in 
our  power  for  the  safety  of  others.  This,  I am  sure, 
will  be  our  safest  plan,  and  it  will  secure  our  dearest 
interests,  and  I advise  you  to  adopt  this  principle. 
But,  I must  go.  Will  we  ever  meet  again  ?” 


FUTURE  PLANS  AND  PROSPECTS. 


45 


“ I hope  we  shall,  Frank ; and  then  we  will  talk 
more  about  these  things,  and  be  better  able  to  tell 
whose  philosophy  was  best,  wisest,  and  safest.  Keep 
the  portrait  my  mother  gave  you.  I know  of  no 
other  person  to  whom  she  would  have  given  it.  It 
may  at  some  future  time  serve  to  revive  by-gone  re- 
collections. I shall  always  remember  you, — I cannot 
forget  you.” 

“ Nor  will  I ever  forget  you,  Dick.  Wherever  you 
find  me,  you  will  find  Frank  Hamilton  still.  Remem- 
ber me  kindly  to  your  family.  Tell  them  I never 
shall  forget  them.” 

The  good-bye  was  uttered,  and  the  young  men  part- 
ed, to  meet  again — they  could  not  tell  when,  where, 
or  how. 


CHAPTER  II. 


NEWS  FROM  HOME. — A SAD  CHANGE. 

“ Fair  was  the  blossom,  soft  the  vernal  sky, 

Elate  with  hope,  we  deemed  no  tempest  nigh ; 

When  lo ! a whirlwind’s  instantaneous  gust, 

Left  all  its  beauties  withering  in  the  dust.” 

How  often — yes,  how  continually — in  the  midst  of 
life’s  pleasantest  ways  and  most  winning  prospects,  are 
we,  seemingly  by  a Providential  declaration,  tanght 
that  it  is  not  in  man  that  walketh  to  direct  his  steps. 
How  often  is  it  made  plain,  on  a wide  scale,  that  the 
circumstances  by  which  we  are  surrounded,  and  which 
we  often  create,  or  tacitly  endorse — be  they  propitious, 
or  unpropitious — are  the  mighty  levers,  under  the 
agency  of  which  we  are  impelled  onward,  and  often 
with  a tyranny  more  absolute  than  that  which  presses 
the  fainting  slave  through  his  years  of  toil ; and  this, 
often,  when  the  voice  of  a living  consciousness  tells  us 
we  are  wrong,  and  that  destruction  and  misery  are  in 
the  way,  and  its  end  death ! 

There  are  none  who  are  more  frequently  or  more 
fearfully  startled,  in  the  ways  of  life,  than  the  young 
— especially  the  young  man.  He  is  just  lifting  the 


NEWS  FROM  HOME — A SAD  CHANGE. 


47 


curtain,  and  feeling  Ms  way,  cautiously,  or  reckless- 
ly, it  may  be,  to  the  stage — the  stage  on  which  in- 
numerable actors  have  played  their  part,  and  for  whom 
another  curtain  has  been  lifted,  and  through  whose 
opening  they  have  passed  to  other  scenes ! How  fear- 
fully variegated  is  the  comic  and  the  tragic  of  this 
drama!  Such  persons  have  no  experience — their 
knowledge  of  the  world  is  second-hand — and  hence 
they  enter  upon  this  stage,  crowded  with  as  much  un- 
certainty as  that  which  crowded  the  entrance  of  the 
gladiator,  when,  for  the  first  time,  he  braved  the  dan 
gers  of  the  Roman  or  Ephesian  Amphitheatre.  He 
knew  not  how  it  would  result.  The  Tuscan  boar,  the 
Numidian  lion,  or  the  Hispanolian  bull,  after  a feeble 
defence,  might  overcome  him ; or  it  might  be  that  a 
well  aimed  blow  from  the  battle-axe,  or  thrust  from 
the  spear,  might  lay  his  savage  antagonist  in  the  dust, 
and  win  for  him  a conqueror’s  meed.  But  everything 
trembled  upon  the  wheel  of  a hazardous  uncertainty. 

How  little  do  those  who  are  experienced  in  the 
warfare  of  life — who  are  rich  in  the  history  of  its  joys 
and  it  sorrows — seem  to  understand  how  much  they 
may  do  in  equipping  a young  warrior,  that  he  may 
reach  at  last  a more  brilliant  fame  than  that  which 
graced  a Roman  holiday ! 

How  seldom  do  we  dream  of  the  infinite,  the  in- 
destructible duration,  of  those  far-reaching  pulsations, 
wMch  come  in  quivering,  lisping  echoes,  from  the 


48 


DICK  WILSON. 


slight  vibration  which  a touch  may  waken  into  life ! 

■ — a touch,  a breath,  a faint  articulation — hallowed,  or 
unhallowed,  for  good  or  for  evil,  for  fame  or  for  in- 
famy ! Who  shall  measure  the  power  which  that  sin- 
gle touch  may  give  to  one  of  those  fragile  human 
barks  on  life’s  stormy  ocean — or  how  it  may  allay  its 
storms,  and  assuage  the  fury  of  its  madness,  by  carry- 
ing with  it  an  ennobling  sympathy,  containing  the 
elements  of  11  peace,  be  still  ?”  The  earthquake  sends 
the  tremor  of  its  wild  pulsations  farther  when  it  is 
deepest  buried  in  the  bosom  of  the  earth.  So  does  the 
element  of  virtue.  So,  too,  does  the  element  of  vice. 

It  is  human  nature’s  great  misfortune,  that  its  sym- 
pathies are  not  more  generally  on  the  side  of  virtue. 
By  the  unhallowed  touch  of  an  ingeniously  wrought 
mystic  influence,  the  seeds  of  corruption  easily  affiliate 
with  the  soil  of  the  human  heart,  and  when  left  to  act 
of  its  own  accord,  what  fearful  desolations  mark  its 
path  ! — desolations  which  are  not  measured  by  days, 
but  by  the  unravelling  thread  of  a whole  existence. 

One  year  had  scarcely  passed  away  since  Dick  Wil- 
son had  parted  with  his  friend,  Frank  Hamilton. 
Then  his  countenance  was  expressive  of  the  most  ar- 
dent hope — now  it  was  expressive  of  sorrow  and  dis- 
appointment. Dark  storms  had  suddenly  swept  over 
the  roof,  and  howled  in  the  halls  of  his  princely  home, 
and  before  their  driving  fury  it  had  become  desolate 
indeed.  Already  the  stranger  named  it  by  another 


NEWS  FROM  HOME. — A SAD  CHANGE.  49 

name,  and  Dick  Wilson  had  no  home ! His  father — 
a kind,  indulgent,  but  unfortunate  man — had  fallen 
into  the  rumseller’s  hands,  and  then,  ah ! how  sud- 
denly, changed  his  earthly  for  an  eternal  home.  He 
needed  no  longer  the  well-attired  parlors,  or  the  com- 
pany of  his  brilliant  guests ; for  his  cup  was  drained 
— his  banquets  over.  Close  by  the  side  of  that  father 
— in  the  spring-time  of  her  existence,  in  the  blooming 
freshness  of  her  young  life — reposed  a lovely  daugh- 
ter ; and  while  other  hearts  were  beating  high  with 
hope,  her’s  had  ceased  to  throb.  One  morning’s  sun 
saw  her,  still  in  beauty,  but  with  a deep  shade  of  sor- 
row on  her  brow  : that  evening’s  setting  sun  looked 
forth  again,  as  it  was  departing,  through  the  crimson 
drapery  of  a quiet  room,  and  again  its  golden  tints 
fell  upon  the  same  brow.  But  now,  gloom  had  dis- 
appeared— the  traces  of  sorrow  were  gone ; her  fea- 
tures were  clear,  her  heart  moved  not — for  her  form, 
girt  about  with  the  pale  livery  of  death,  was  ready  to 
be  laid  by  the  side  of  her  father,  on  whose  premature 
fall,  through  the  rumseller’s  agency,  the  young  heart 
had  broken.  Fortune  had  failed,  with  her  train  of 
fickle  attendants. 

All  this,  to  Dick  Wilson,  had  come  suddenly.  He 
had  not  received  even  his  half-hour’s  notice  of  its 
coming  ; and  it  came  just  at  the  time  in  which,  with 
greater  buoyancy  than  ever,  he  was  aspiring  towards 
future  fame  ; and,  more  than  ever,  he  was  unconscious 


0 


50 


DICK  WILSON. 


that  the  wings,  to  whose  capacity  he  was  too  con- 
fidently trusting,  were  about  to  be  broken  off. 

It  was  a night  of  merriment  with  Dick  and  some  of 

his  young  law  companions,  at  C ; but  it  was  a 

night  of  wasting  sadness  in  his  home.  Wine  had  en- 
tered the  room  where  these  young  men  were  holding 
their  conviviality — but  intense  sorrow  had  borne  itself 
to  the  doors  of  the  home  he  loved,  to  banish  its  joys 
and  wipe  out  its  happiness. 

These  young  men  were  nearly  frenzied  with  ecstasy 
as  the  wine  cup,  the  great  mocker,  with  all  its  decep- 
tiveness, pictured  to  them  a glowing  future — a future, 
in  which  the  dullest  and  most  stupid,  as  well  as  the 
most  brilliant  mind  in  the  throng,  saw  the  doors  of 
fortune  and  fame  hard  by  each  other,  and  both  wide 
open  to  admit  them,  inviting  them  to  come  at  once — 
to  come  hastily — to  come  by  the  nearest  way,  and  to 
discard  from  their  minds  the  tedious  idea  of  building 
up  a temple  for  themselves,  and  placing  and  fitting 
each  stone  with  their  own  hands.  Ah  ! yes ; to  come 
by  the  bleak  and  blighted  path,  along  which  wine  has 
led  her  fame-aspiring  votaries. 

While  these  things  were  passing  before  the  minds, 
and  whirling  in  the  brains  of  those  young  men,  Dick 
Wilson,  to  all  appearance,  felt  it  to  be  a night  of  cheer 
— of  rich,  innocent  enjoyment.  But  then  he  knew 
not  by  what  a fearful  voice  he  was  soon  to  be  awak- 
ened from  the  embrace  of  the  charmer ; little  did  he 


NEWS  FROM  HOME. — A SAD  CHANGE. 


51 


dream  at  “that  moment  a mother  and  two  sisters  were 
watching  the  fast  glazing  eyes  of  a dying  father,  whose 
pleasant  words  and  gentle  smiles  had  greeted  him  for 
the  last  time.  While  he  was  looking  at  the  beauties 
of  a picture  which  wine  promised  to  draw  for  him,  his 
dear  ones  at  home  were  looking  upon  a cheerless  real- 
ity, which  wine  had  painted  for  them,  and  to  which 
the  privileged  rumseller  had  added  the  last  touch  of 
his  scathing  pencil. 

When  Dick  Wilson  returned  to  his  own  room  that 
night,  he  threw  himself  down,  with  apparent  uncon- 
cern, upon  a lounge,  and  while  musing  there,  he  sud 
denly  caught  a glimpse  of  something  suspended  to 
his  mirror.  He  looked  at  this  a moment  without 
moving,  and  then  rising  hastily,  he  advanced  to  ex- 
amine it,  and  found  it  to  be  a letter  from  his  mother, 
which  some  thoughtful  person  had  brought  from  the 
office,  and  placed  in  that  position,  that  he  might  the 
more  easily  find  it.  On  opening  it,  he  exclaimed, 
“Why,  this  is  from  mother! — something  must  be 
wrong.”  The  letter  contained  a simple  request  for 
him  to  come  home  immediately,  and  bring  everything 
with  him.  “This,”  said  he,  “is  strange  indeed. 
Mother  has  written  to  me  to  come  home  at  once,  and 
to  bring  everything  with  me,  and  there  is  not  a word 
of  explanation  about  it.  They  can’t  have  any  preju- 
dices against  this  school,  and  intend  sending  me  some 
where  else.  No,  this  is  not  the  reason ; for  in  that 


52 


DICK  WILSON. 


case  father  would  have  written.  They  can’-t  be  sick, 
for  it  was  only  the  day  before  yesterday  that  I receiv- 
ed a letter  from  them,  and  they  were  all  well.  I must 
look  again  at  the  other  letter.57  He  ran  his  eye  over 
it  carefully,  and  at  length  he  said,  “ Yes;  here  it  is — 
little  Harry  is  slightly  indisposed.  Yes,  here  is  the 
secret,55  he  continued;  “my  poor  little  brother,  very 
unexpectedly  to  them,  at  the  time  of  writing  this  let- 
ter, may  since  have  become  very  sick,  and  perhaps  he 
is  dead ; and  if  this  is  so,  my  arrival  at  home  will  not 
be  greeted,  as  formerly,  by  smiles  and  joys,  but  by  a 
heart-broken  household.55 

Just  at  this  moment,  and  while  Dick  was  still 
trembling  in  uncertainty,  a young  man  who  had  made 
one  of  the  company  during  the  evening,  entered  his 
room.  It  was  evident  enough  that  this  young  man’s 
brain  was  still . restless,  and  he  determined  to  say 
nothing  to  him  about  his  letter.  After  some  time 
his  friend  observed  Dick’s  uneasy  manner,  and  in- 
quired what  was  the  matter.  Dick  at  once  informed 
him. 

“ Well,  if  I were  in  your  place,  Dick  Wilson,55  re- 
plied the  young  man,  “I  wouldn’t  go — at  all  events,  I 
wouldn’t  go  for  my  mother’s  saying  so.  Yes,  yes,  in- 
deed, a mother— -she  is  the  last  person  I would  think 
of  obeying,  or  whose  right  to  command  I would  ac- 
knowledge. 1 Come  home,  immediately,  and  bring 
everything  with  you.5  I’ll  tell  you,  Wilson,  that’s  a 


NEWS  FROM  HOME. — A SAD  CHANGE. 


53 


sweeping  command  to  come  from  a mother.  But  I 
suppose  you  won’t  be  fool  enough  to  go.” 

“ Yes,  I will,”  replied  Dick,  sharply  ; “ I will  leave 
by  the  stage  in  the  morning.” 

“Well,  now,  Dick,”  continued  the  profligate  young 
man,  “ I would  not  go — at  any  rate  until  I should  re- 
ceive another  letter ; and  if  they  want  you  badly  it 
will  soon  come,  and  your  father  will  write  it,  and  he 
will  give  you  the  whys  and  wherefores.  What  do 
you  think  is  wrong  at  home,  Mr.  Wilson  ?” 

“I  don’t  know,”  replied  Dick ; “but  I fear  a little 
brother  may  be  very  ill,  or  perhaps  dead.” 

“ And  you  will  go  home  for  that?” 

“ Certainly!”  replied  Dick. 

“Well,  I guess  I wouldn’t  do  any  such  thing — not 
for  a mother’s  command,  nor  to  see  a little  dead 
brother,  either.  Why,  my  folks,  I don’t  believe, 
would  send  for  me,  if  all  the  family  should  die ; for 
they  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  I will  have  my 
own  way,  and  necessity  has  compelled  them  to  give 
me  free  passes,  and  I’m  my  own  man,  and  indepen- 
dent of  mothers  and  dead  brothers.  I’m  bent  on  en- 
joying  myself.” 

Here  the  conversation  ended.  Dick  slept  none  that 
night,  but  busied  himself  in  making  preparations  for 
an  early  start  in  the  morning.  He  was  thinking  of 
home,  and  trying  to  satisfy  himself  as  to  what  the 
cause  of  this  unexplained  request  could  possibly  be. 


54 


DICK  WILSON. 


And  often,  as  lie  looked  upon  that  sleeping  figure, 
with  hat  and  boots  and  all  on,  upon  his  bed,  the  per- 
fect picture  of  hardened  recklessness,  did  he  think  of 
Frank  Hamilton,  and  of  the  contrast.  And  sometimes 
he  almost  concluded  that  the  philosophy  of  Frank 
should  be  his  philosophy.  He  hesitated,  however, 
and  excused  himself  by  saying,  u This  fellow  would 
have  been  a brute  if  wine  had  never  been  made !” 

Dick  Wilson  arrived  at  home,  and  was  greeted  by 
the  wail  of  a weeping  family.  Just  as  he  entered  the 
door,  his  sister  Eliza  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck, 
saying, 

“ Dear,  dear  Dick,  poor  father  is  dead !” 

The  shock  was  sudden  and  appalling.  He  felt  in 
a moment  how  insecure  were  the  hopes  of  life.  But 
he  did  not  know  until  the  next  day  that  they  were  to 
be  driven  into  the  street  by  the  law  which  protects 
this  species  of  murder,  and  which  in  so  many  cases 
gives  the  administrator  of  rum  complete  control  over 
the  estate  of  his  victim. 

Who  calls  this  innocent  ? Oh/  if  it  be,  whisper  it 
not  in  the  hearing  of  the  lisping  child  ! Whisper  it 
nowhere,  but  among  the  hopelessly  depraved ! Go 
where  humanity  has  erected  a shelter  for  the  rumsel- 
ler’s  worn-out  victim,  and  if  you  tell  that  poor  crea- 
ture that  it  is  innocent,  he  will  tell  you  that  it  is  false ! 
Here  stood  Dick  Wilson,  with  this  appalling  evidence 
staring  him  in  the  face.  Could  he  say,  as  he  looked 


NEWS  FROM  HOME. — A SAD  CHANGE. 


55 


upon  this  dark  picture,  and  saw  it  in  all  its  horror, 
that  no  blame  could  be  attached  to  the  rumseller? 
No ! But  as  he  saw  the  change,  for  which  he  was  un- 
prepared, is  it  not  probable  that  in  the  depths  of  his 
own  heart,  bitter,  burning  curses  were  muttered 
against  the  cause  and  the  agencies  which  had  so  early 
blighted  his  fair  prospects,  and  withered  the  hopes  of 
his  home  ? It  would  be  strange,  indeed,  if  he  did  not. 
God  himself  looks  with  abhorrence  upon  such  agen- 
cies, whose  fearful  ravages  cover  the  land.  And  must 
they  still  go  on  ? Is  there  no  way  to  check  the  fearful 
flood  of  ruin  ? There  is.  A light  looms  up  in  the 
east,  full  of  hope  and  cheer  to  the  friends  of  human- 
ity I By  it  you  may  read  the  mene,  mene , tekel , up- 
harsin — the  rumseller’s  doom ! The  Maine  Law  is 
enacted  ! ! Already  have  its  benignant  influences 
pervaded  the  border  State,  and  have  swept,  with 
electric  rapidity,  over  every  State  of  the  Union.  On 
this,  Humanity  fixes  her  hope — a foundation  firm  as 
the  rocks  of  its  parent  State. 

********* 

Dick  Wilson  had  just  carried  into  a very  small 
house,  situated  in  a part  of  the  city  frequented  by  the 
inheritors  of  poverty,  the  last  articles  of  their  scanty 
furniture — all  that  the  law  and  the  rumseller  had  left 
them.  Deep  agitation  was  visible  in  Mrs.  Wilson’s 
countenance,  as  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  few  precious 
relics  which  remained  of  her  once  ample  establish- 


56 


DICK  WILS0K. 


ment.  With  them  were  connected  the  fondest  and 
most  endearing,  as  well  as  the  bitterest  recollections 
of  her  life.  Here  was  a memento  of  the  sunny  period 
of  her  existence,  the  sight  of  which  brought  vividly 
and  at  once  tor  view,  the  love,  the  devotion  of  him 
who  was  then  the  fond  father,  the  more  than  devoted 
husband, — there  a relic,  reminding  her  of  the  many 
years  of  domestic  happiness  which  she  had  passed  in 
that  house)  from  which  she  had  been  so  suddenly  and 
ruthlessly  driven. 

There  may  be  some  who  cannot  realize  the  feelings 
of  this  family  at  that  moment,  and  others  still  who 
may  say,  4 4 It  is  well  enough,  for  aristocracy  ought  to 
fall.”  Well,  you  are  supremely  cruel.  If  you  had 
been  a beggar  at  Mrs.  Wilson’s  door,  in  the  time  of 
her  prosperity,  she  would  not  have  turned  you  away 
empty ; but  she  would  have  supplied  your  wants,  and 
given  you  a kindly  word.  Nor  would  she  have  for- 
gotten to  ask  you  if  there  were  others  in  your  home 
who  needed  her  assistance.  Even  the  old  drayman, 
with  his  rough  exterior  and  sun-browned  face,  could 
feel  for  them.  He  had  known  them  in  the  day  of 
their  prosperity,  and  now,  in  the  day  of  their  advers- 
ity, he  was  doing  what  he  could  to  assist  them,  and 
one  could  see,  in  his  cheerful  movements,  the  charac- 
ter of  his  heart. 

There  is  something  noble  in  a strong  man’s  tear.  It 
bespeaks  a cause,  under  the  influence  of  which  it  has 


NEWS  FROM  HOME.' — A SAD  CHANGE. 


57 


been  forced  from  its  hiding  place.  A tear,  denoting 
the  true  nobility  of  his  nature,  stood  in  the  eye  of  old 
Donald,  as  he  spoke  his  word  of  cheer  to  Mrs.  Wilson, 
before  leaving  the  door  : 

“Many,  aye,  many  a time,  Mrs.  Wilson,  has  ould 
Donald  seen  the  like  of  this.  Yes,  sure,  madam, 
they’re  sorry  days,  but  they  must  be  borne ; but  it’s 
weel  to  trust  in  God — it’s  always  weel  to  do  so,  in 
riches  and  in  poverty.  Yes,  madam,  God  will  pay 
these  workers  of  iniquity  for  the  sorrow  they  have 
brought  to  you;”  and  brushing  the  tear  from  his  eye 
with  his  sleeve,  he  spoke  gently  to  his  horse,  and  de- 
parted. 

“Mother,”  said  Dick,  as  he  seated  himself  in  a 
house  which  gave  unmistakable  evidence  that  for  a 
long  time  it  had  been  consecrated  to  poverty — • 
“mother,  dear,  dear  mother,  can  it  be  possible  that  we 
are  really  in  this  situation,  and  that  this  is  all  that  is 
left  to  us  ? Is  it  merely  in  a dream  that  I see  this 
misery  ? Is  this  my  mother,  my  sweet  sister,  my  dear 
little  brother  ? Then  where  are  the  rest  ? Ah ! yes ; 
but  it’s  not  a dream.  I understand  it — it’s  only  too 
real.  The  rumseller — the  rumseller ! What  a name ! 
— what  a power ! — what  a destroyer !” 

“ My  son,  be  calm,”  replied  Mrs.  Wilson  ; “ let  us 
give  this  dark  cloud  an  opportunity  to  pass  over.  We 
are  here,  my  son,  alone ; and  this  is  all  that  is  left  to 
us.  But,  my  dear  children,  you  are  spared  to  me,  and 


58 


DICK  WILSON. 


we  to  each  other,  yet.  Richard,  I saw  this  storm 
coming.  I saw  it  when  it  first  appeared  in  the  hori- 
zon, and  I labored  to  arrest  it ; but  I failed.  It  came 
to  me,  my  boy,  after  all,  nearly  as  suddenly  as  it  did 
to  yourself.  For  some  time  I vainly  hoped  that  if  I 
could  not  prevent  it  entirely,  I might  at  least  be  able 
to  make  it  linger  in  its  coming;  and  what  you  see, 
with  the  exception  of  seven  hundred  dollars,  which 
was  in  my  possession  at  the  time  of  your  father’s 
death,  is  all  that  we  have  left.  But,  with  this  you 
can  finish  your  profession,  and  when  once  you  are  ad- 
mitted to  the  bar,  I think  I may  hope,  my  dear  son, 
that  you  will  be  able  to  make  some  provision  for  us 
all.  Richard,  my  first  born,  our  staff  and  stay  is 
broken  off,  and  we  must  lean  upon  you . You  must 
be  our  protector  : you  must  be  our  defence.  It  seems 
to  be  too  hard  for  you : the  load  is  too  heavy.  A 
mother,  and  sister,  and  brother,  all  helpless  as  chil- 
dren. Oh ! it  was  cruel  in  the  rumseller  thus  to  tor- 
ture us.” 

“ Yes,  yes,  dear  Dick,”  exclaimed  his  sister,  throw- 
ing her  arms  about  the  neck  and  kissing  the  fine  fore- 
head of  her  brother,  whose  spirit  seemed  indeed 
broken  ; “yes,  my  brother,  you  are  our  only  depend- 
ence, and  to  you  we  must  cling.  You  are  our  only 
earthly  protector,  my  dear  brother.  This  change  has 
been  severe,  Dick  ; but  still,  it  might  have  fallen  with 
greater  severity.  God  is  good,  for  he  has  spared  you 


NEWS  FBOM  HOME. — A SAD  CHANGE. 


59 


to  us  yet,  and  we  will  pray  for  you  continually,  that 
you  may  not  be  taken  from  us.  Poor  dear  Ellen,  it 
is  well  that  you  are  gone.  I am  sure  your  gentle 
spirit  is  in  heaven.  I see  still  the  sweet,  serene  smile 
which  death  left  upon  your  lips,  and  memory,  dear 
Ellen,  will  ever  fondly  cherish  it.  Yes,  Dick,  she  is 
gone.  She  is  done  with  the  sorrow  of  this  toilsome 
way.  And  I have  just  been  wondering  with  myself, 
whether  it  may  not  be  entirely  consistent  with  the 
Divine  government,  that  the  spirits  of  the  just  made 
perfect  by  the  blood  of  the  everlasting  Covenant,  may 
not  have  some  knowledge  of  this  world  still ; and  also 
whether  they  are  not  sometimes  sent  on  errands  of 
mercy,  to  brighten  the  hopes  and  lighten  the  toils  of 
the  earthly  pilgrimage  of  their  friends.  If  such  per- 
mission is  given  in  the  courts  of  the  redeemed,  then 
we  will  have  the  gentle  spirit  of  a glorified  sister  to 
sympathize  with  us  in  our  gloomy  path,  and  He  who 
has  been  her  friend  may  be  ours.  But  oh ! Ellen,  I 
miss  you  much.  Your  departure  has  loosened  my 
hold  on  life ; but  I am  glad  that  you  are  safe — safe 
where  the  crueltiesaof  earth  can  never  reach  you — 
safe  in  the  possession  of  an  enduring  home,  where 
wickedness  will  never  disturb  the  harmony  of  your 
society.  Precious  sister!  the  cold,  cheerless  storms 
of  life  will  never  beat  upon  thy  pearly  path,  or  damp 
thy  fervent  joys.” 

Here  poor  little  Harry  suddenly  joined  the  group. 


60 


DICK  WILSON. 


It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  this  child  would  realize 
the  effect  of  the  change.  Indeed,  it  was  all  the  better 
that  he  did  not.  But  still,  he  read  in  the  expression 
of  the  rest  of  the  family,  the  meaning  of  the  double 
inheritance  of  orphanage  and  poverty. 

“ Come  here,  my  poor  child,”  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  no- 
ticing the  evidence  of  melancholy  which  shaded  his 
dimpled  cheeks.  The  little  fellow  sprang  at  once  into 
her  arms,  exclaiming,  as  if  he  knew  his  mother’s  need 
of  consolation, — 

“ Dear  mamma! — little  Harry  loves  mamma!” 

“Ah,  my  poor  child,”  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  “I  am 
glad  that  you  do  not  know  the  sad  realities  of  this 
hour;  but  if  you  live  you  will  know  them.  I hope, 
my.  child,  that  if  God  spares  your  life,  that  it  will  be 
your  privilege  to  live  and  act  with  men  who  will  be 
much  wiser  than  their  fathers.  I hope  that  in  your 
day,  the  luring  temptation  which  has  scathed  us  will 
be  better  understood  ; that  defenders  of  the  right  will 
band  together  for  its  extirpation.  My  prayer  is,  that 
my  dear  boys  may  be  workers  in  the  noble  cause.  It 
would  make  up,  in  some  measur^for  the  troubles  of 
this  hour,  if  I could  see  my  children  safe  themselves, 
and  then,  with  a noble  magnanimity,  throwing  out 
their  influence  to  save  others.  Poor  child ! If  your 
mother  can  only  be  permitted  to  keep  you  under  her 
own  protection  until  your  character  is  formed,  she 
will  try  to  bear  up  under  the  burdens  of  life  with  re- 


NEWS  FKOM  HOME. — A SAD  CHANGE. 


61 


signation.  But — 0 God ! — Father  in  Heaven  ! spare, 
oh,  spare,  if  in  the  wisdom  of  thy  counsels  it  maybe 
done — spare  my  life,  until  these  dear  ones,  whom  thy 
kindness  hath  given  me,  are  safe  from  the  tempter’s 
snare  ! Teach,  I pray  thee,  0 Father  in  Heaven ! a 
broken-hearted  mother  to  say  ‘ Thy  will  be  done  ! ’ ” 

At  this  moment,  while  the  eyes  of  that  broken- 
hearted mother  were  intently  fixed  toward  heaven,  as 
if  waiting  some  answer,  or  the  assurance  that  her 
prayer  was  heard,  and  while  mute  and  melancholy 
despair  was  depicted  upon  the  countenances  of  her 
orphan  group,  a tall,  well-dressed,  but  uncouth  look- 
ing man  entered  the  room  To  this  family,  at  this  mo- 
ment, he  was  a revolting  object,  and  they  shuddered 
as  he  seated  himself.  His  swaggering  air,  and  his 
cold,  unsympathizing  countenance,  pointed  him  out 
as  belonging  to  that  class  of  men  to  which  their  bitter 
sorrows  were  directly  traceable.  The  manner  of  his 
entrance  pointed  him  out  at  once  as  one  who  was  lost 
to  all  the  finer  sensibilities  of  humanity.  An  unan- 
nounced entrance  is  a privilege  which  none  but  the 
meanest  will  avai^themselves  of,  any  more  at  the 
threshold  of  poverty  than  at  the  door  of  munifi- 
cence. 

“ Is  this  where  Mrs.  Wilson  lives  ?”  inquired  the 
intruder. 

“ It  is,  sir,”  replied  Mrs.  Wilson. 

“ Well,  ma’m,”  continued  the  man,  “I’ve  had  a 


62 


DICK  WILSON. 


devil  of  a time  in  finding  you  out.  I guess  you  don’t 
know  me,  ma’m.” 

“ No,”  replied  Mrs.  Wilson,  “ I do  not.” 

“Yes,  I see — just  as  I supposed.  People  never 
know  me  when  I want  to  get  my  own.  This  ain’t  the 
first  time  widows  haven’t  known  me  ; and  this  ain’t 
the  first  time,  neither,  that  I’ve  seen  children  holding 
on  to  their  mother,  as  if  I was  the  devil.  Your  hus- 
band knew  me,  ma’m ; yes,  he  did,  devilish  well.  I 
wish  to  the  Lord  he  had  made  it  convenient  to  have 
paid  me  his  rum  bill  before  he  went  off.  But  I guess 
he  didn’t  think  of  going  off  quite  so  soon.  Your 
husband,  ma’m,  was  a very  clever  man — indeed,  he 
was  an  excellent  man ; and  if  it  hadn’t  been  for  them 

infernal  gambling  scoundrels  at  the , he  would 

have  stood  it  a good  while  longer.  I have  a matter 
of  fifty  dollars  against  your  husband’s  estate,  Mrs.  Wil- 
son, and  I called  at  this  time,  supposing,  perhaps,  that 
there  were  some  valuable  articles  which  you  had  kept 
back,  and  some  of  which,  perhaps,  I could  get.  I would 
take  anything  you  can  give  me,  to  make  up  the  amount. 
I’ll  not  be  hard,  Mrs.  Wilson,  for  God  knows  you’ve 
suffered  enough  already.  Some  people  think  it  ain’t 
wrong  to  hide  property ; but  I’ll  tell  you,  ma’m,  its 
all  wrong  to  do  so — and  people  who  do  it  can’t  expect 
to  prosper.  I should  think,  from  your  appearance, 
Mrs.  Wilson,  that  you  wouldn’t  do  anything  that’s 
wrong,  if  you  only  knew  it.  Now,  I declare  it’s  a 


NEWS  FROM  HOME. — A SAD  CHANGE. 


63 


God’s  truth,  if  you  have  anything  laid  away,  in  money 
or  goods,  it’s  very  wicked  in  you  to  do  so.  When  I 
saw  Mr.  Wilson  last  he  had  an  elegant  gold  watch, 
and  I tried  hard  to  get  it  of  him,  but  he  said  it  was 
for  his  son.  Now,  Mrs.  Wilson,  I suppose  you  are  a 
Christian  ; then  just  think  of  this.” 

“Then,  sir,”  replied  Mrs.  Wilson,  “I  understand 
my  husband  was  in  your  debt.  Is  this  the  entire 
claim  that  you  had  against  him  ?” 

“ No,  ‘indeed,  ma’m,  it  is  not.  I have  recovered 
fourteen  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  I took  your  piano, 
at  the  hands  of  the  auctioneer,  at  three  hundred  dollars. 
It’s  an  excellent  instrument,  Mrs.  Wilson.  I think  I 
made  something  there ! I bid  off  a good  many  articles 
that  I ain’t  a judge  of,  and  can’t  tell  how  I’ve  done.” 

“ Will  you  have  the  goodness  to  tell  me,  sir,  what 
my  husband  had  in  value  to  the  amount  of  fifteen 
hundred  dollars  ?” 

“Well,  madam,  I’m  an  honorable  man,  and  I 
wouldn’t  cheat ; but  your  husband  had  full  value  for 
the  amount.” 

“Will  you  then  tell  me  in  what  business  you  are 
engaged  ?” 

“Iam  engaged  in  the  coffee-house  business,  if  you 
must  know,  and  it’s  a respectable  business  too,  as  well 
as  a living  business.” 

“Ah,  yes,  sir,”  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  “you  are  a liquor- 
dealer.” 


64 


DICK  WILSON. 


“I  have  my  father’s  watch,”  said  Dick  ; “ we  have 
a little  money ; you  see  our  furniture, — we  have  hid 
nothing.  Here  you  see  all  that  your  traffic  has  left  us 
of  earthly  goods.  Here  we  are,  clinging  to  the  wreck 
that  you,  in  part,  have  made,  and  your  heartless 
avarice  would  lead  you  now  to  sink  us  if  you  could. 
Ah,  sir,  we  detest  your  vocation.  You  can  leave  as 
soon  as  possible.  We  are  not  in  your  debt,  except 
for  the  bitter  cup  of  misery  which  you  have  placed  to 
our  lips.  The  law  has  paid  you  too  much  already.” 

“ Eichard,  my  dear  son,”  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  “suffer 
not  this  man  to  excite  you  to  anger.” 

“ My  dear  mother,”  said  Dick,  wiping  his  eyes  and 
brushing  back  his  hair  with  his  hand,  11 1 am  not  an- 
gry— there  is  no  room  now  in  my  heart  for  anger.  I 
am  only  telling  this  man  what  he  ought  to  know. 
There  are  thousands  in  this  city  who  think  as  we  do 
about  this  business,  and  who  know  the  mischief  he, 
and.  others  like  himself,  are  doing;  but  for  some 
reason  others  regard  them  as  public  benefactors  ! I 
wonder,  mother,  that  the  love  they  bear  their  own 
children  does  not  compel  them  to  wake  up,  and  make 
war  upon  this  great  scourge  of  the  race,  which  has 
filled  every  path  of  vice  to  overflowing.” 

“ Madam,”  said  the  liquor-dealer,  drawing  himself 
up  with  a peculiar  dignity,  “ I don’t  want  to  quarrel 
— I love  peace : I only  want  my  pay.” 

“ I am  unable  to  pay  you,  sir,”  said  Mrs.  Wilson, 


NEWS  FROM  HOME. — A SAD  CHANGE. 


65 


“ without  distressing  my  family,  and  that  I am  unwill- 
ing to  do.  They  are  now  distressed,  I fear,  beyond 
their  capacity  to  endure.  Besides,  sir,  it  would  be 
paying  you  for  the  commission  of  a crime — one  which 
God  has  how  charged  against  your  soul ! Have  you 
k family,  sir  ? And  if  so,  try  at  this  moment  to  put 
yourself  and  them  into  our  position,  and  then  ask 
yourself  whether  you  would  feel  as  you  now  do !” 
“Yes,  ma’m,  I guess  I have  a family,  and  a big  one, 
xoo  ! But  they  don’t  give  me  much  trouble,  I assure 
you.  I have  set  it  down  as  a fact,  that  children  raised 
about  a house  like  mine,  never  amount  to  much,  un- 
less by  accident.  While  I live,  I suppose  they  can 
live,  and  when  I’m  dead  they  must  scratch  for  them- 
selves. I never  look  forward.” 

r I should  think  not,”  replied  Dick,  sharply. 

“Well,  sir,”  continued  Mrs.  Wilson,  “as  for  my  lit- 
tle family,  they  are  very  precious  to  me.  I love  them 
as  I think  a mother  ought  to  love  her  children,  and  if 
it  is  possible  to  do  so,  I want  to  keep  them  together, 
that  their  affeeiion  for  each  other  may  not  be  sullied, 
and  that  they  may  grow  up  to  usefulness  and  respect- 
ability. Thus  fax,  they  know  nothing  about  a bar- 
room, and  I trust  in  God  they  never  will ! I hope 
they  will  learn  to  look  upon  that  room,  wherever  it 
may  be — no  matter  how  well  its  hideousness  may  be 
masked  ; no  matter  how  its  deteimiiieo  mcy  be  cover- 
ed over,  by  the  witchery  of  lartdon-  - 1 tiwv 

5 


66 


DICK  WILSON. 


will  regard  it  as  a room  containing  tlie  element  of 
every  vice.” 

“ Now,  let  me  tell  yon,  madam,  as  a friend,  you 
can’t  keep  your  family  together — that’s  impossible ! 
After  all,  it  ain’t  worth  doing,  any  how ; and  if  you 
could  do  it;  it  wouldn’t  pay ! Children  never  pay  for 
the  raising  of  them ; and  natural  affection — it  ain’t  no- 
thing at  all.  There  is  nothing  in  it ; it’s  all  moon- 
shine ! I suppose  it’s  about  the  same  kind  of  affec- 
tion which  two  horses,  or  two  oxen,  which  are  fed  to- 
gether, and  drove  together,  have  for  each  other.  This 
natural  affection  is  off  the  same  web  with  preaching, 
and  praying,  and  psalm-singing,  and  the  like.  It’s  all 
folly ; and  you  find  mighty  few  in  my  business  who 
are  fools  enough  to  follow  in  this  road.  Hadn’t  you 
better  pay  me,  Mrs.  Wilson,  and  let  me  be  going?” 
Without  waiting  for  a reply,  he  turned  to  Dick,  and 
said : “ That  young  boy  sitting  there  would  be  squire, 
I suppose.  Now,  Mrs.  Wilson,  if  you  would  just  do 
your  duty,  and  get  these  notions  of  high  life  out  of 
his  head,  and  let  him  know  that  he  has  to  dig  for  a 
living  now,  and  start  him  out,  just  at  once,  to  begin 
it;  and  that  little  one,”  pointing  to  little  Harry;  “if 
you  would  give  him  to  some  one  for  his  keeping,  it 
would  be  the  best  thing  that  you  could  do.” 

Here  little  Harry,  as  if  terrified  by  hearing  his 
name  articulated  by  such  lips,  bounded  at  once  into 
his  mother’s  arms,  exclaiming — 


NEWS  FROM  HOME. — A SAD  CHANGE. 


67 


“ Mamma  won’t  let  man  take  me— little  Harry  love 
mamma.” 

“No,  my  poor  little  son,”  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  “not 
while  life  lasts  ! I thank  God  fervently,  my  orphan 
boy,  that  you  are  not  a little  slave.  If  you  were,  you 
might  be  wrung  from  my  bosom — torn  from  my  em- 
brace, or  flogged  at  my  feet.  But  thank  God,  you 
are  a little  freeman , and  if  you  are  the  heir  of  orphan- 
age and  poverty,  the  rumseller  can  neither  buy  you 
nor  sell  you.  ‘Heaven  be  praised  for  kindness  in 
giving  to  you  a white  skin.’  ” 

“Oh,  yes,”  continued  this  wolfish  intruder,  “I’ve 
heard  all  this  a great  many  times.  It’s  lost  all  its 
effect  on  me,  I assure  you  it  has.  It’s  no  use  to  argue 
in  that  way  with  me.  I say,  ma’m  ; if  you  will  give 
him  away,  it  will  be  better  for  you.  He  will  soon 
forget  you ; and  then  it  will  be  just  as  well  for  both 
of  you.  And  your  daughter!  She  is  big  enough, 
and  I dare  say  old  enough,  to  earn  her  living ; and  it 
is  your  duty,  as  a good  mother,  to  put  her  out  to  work, 
and  if  you  do  not  do  it,  I think  the  poor-master  ought 
to  do  it  for  you.  That  girl  is  pretty,  and  after  some 
telling,  she  could  wait  at  a table  nicely.  If  it  wasn’t 
just  for  one  thing,  I should  like  to  have  her  in  my 
house.  If  I did  take  her,  to  work  out  this  bill  of  her 
father’s,  I suppose  she  would  want  to  stand  on  a level 
with  my  girls  and  my  wife.  They  are  real  high-fliers, 
and  wouldn’t  stand  it  nohow;  and  what’s  more,  I 


68 


DICK  WILSON. 


wouldn’t  be  able  to  get  no  good  out  of  any  of  them. 
Just  open  the  door  and  tell  them  to  go.  I’ll  go  bail, 
they  will  do  something  before  they  starve ! What  do 
you  say,  Mrs.  Wilson  ?” 

“ I say,  sir,”  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  while  her  features 
glowed  with  a consciousness  of  princely  superiority, 
over  the  ruffian  in  her  presence  ; “ 1 say,  sir,  you  are 
as  mean  as  you  are  murderous.  You  are  as  insolent 
as  you  are  vile ; and  you  are  as  sure,  as  you  are  de- 
serving,  of  your  place  at  last ! Know,  then,  that 
Mary  Wilson,  once  the  wife,  and  now  the  widow,  of 
him  whom  she  tenderly  loved ; whose  memory  she 
still  cherishes ; whose  children  she  loves  better  than 
she  does  her  own  life,  and  whose  natural  affection  for 
each  other  rises  far  above  your  brutal  apprehension — 
know,  then,  that  these  dear  ones,  to  whom  your  wan- 
ton agency  has  brought  a filled  chalice  of  misery  ; — 
yes,  sir,  or  villain , as  you  may  choose,  know  that  only 
God  can  part  me  from  children  ! Give  this  boy  away ! 
Turn  him  out  into  the  street  to  beg,  and  force  him  to 
become  a thief!  Sooner  would  I give  the  last  drop 
of  blood  which  circles  in  my  veins  ! Give  my  daugh- 
ter to  you , to  wait  at  your  table — to  be  on  a level  with 
your  daughter  ! No,  sir  ; rather  would  I follow  her 
to  the  grave  ! I want  you  to  leave  this  house  if  you 
will  do  it.  Do  not,  I beseech  you,  kill  us  by  your 
cruelty.” 

“Yes,  ma’m,”  he  replied,  “I  wouldn’t  stay  long 


NEWS  FBOM  HOME.- — A SAD  CHANGE. 


69 


with,  such  dishonest  folks.  1 Nice  Christianity,  this  I’ 
— -but  it  won’t  pay  honest  debts.” 

He  rose  to  depart,  but  turned  when  he  reached  the 
door,  and  fixing  his  eye  upon  Dick,  he  muttered — 

“ You  young  devil,  you  ! If  you  had  been  away, 
I should  have  got  my  pay ; but  I shan’t  lose  it,  I’ll 
go  bail  for  that.  I’ll  get  it  out  of  some  other  fool — 
yes,  that’s  what  I will.  Good-day,  madam.  Keep 
your  natural  affection — maybe  it  will  make  you  rich, 
and  then  you  will  think  of  honest  debts ; and  maybe 
you  won’t  call  decent  people  rum-mongers  /” 

Here  Mrs.  Wilson  had  a new  insight  into  ways  of 
misery,  of  which  before  she  had  not  dreamed.  She 
knew  how,  and  by  whom,  these  miseries  had  been 
produced.  She  knew  very  well  who  were  the  cause 
of  her  sorrow,  but  until  this  moment,  she  did  not  dream 
that  even  amongst  this  class  of  men,  there  were  any 
who  were  wanton  enough,  willingly,  much  less  mali- 
ciously, to  add  a single  pang  to  her  overflowing  grief. 

But  Mrs.  Wilson  was  mistaken.  The  path  along  which, 
hitherto,  she  had  travelled,  was  one  peculiarly  exempt- 
ed from  the  insults  of  the  rude  and  unfeeling,  but  now 
the  barriers  of  fortune  were  swept  away,  and  already  the 
beasts  of  the  field  had  well-nigh  destroyed  everything. 

“ I suppose,  my  children,”  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  11  we 
must  now  make  up  our  minds  to  be  governed  by  the 
straitened  laws  of  poverty,  and  we  will  no  doubt  find 
them  severe  enough,  until,  we  get  familiar  with  them. 


70 


DICK  WILSON. 


I suppose,  too,  that  our  caste  has  gone  with  our 
wealth,  and  that  we  will  be  excluded  from  the  society 
in  which  we  formerly  moved.  This  I think  is  cruel. 
I have,  when  a child,  stood  by  the  hive,  when  as 
many  bees  as  could  find  a share  in  the  work,  were 
carrying  out  a dead  one,  but  I never  saw  them  carry- 
ing out  a living  one,  unless  it  were  a drone,  or  a thief. 
In  their  misfortunes  they  protect  each  other;  and 
what  a rebuke  do  they,  by  their  simple  instinct,  give 
to  the  cold  formalism  of  reason!  We  are  not  dead, 
my  children — neither  are  we  drones  ; and  most  of  all, 
we  are  far  from  being  thieves ; but  yet,  I apprehend 
we  must  make  up  our  minds  that  there  is  but  little 
sympathy  for  us.  Those  whose  protectors  perish,  as 
your  father  did,  my  children,  I suppose  are  very  much 
like  ourselves — widows  and  orphans , for  whose  protec- 
tion there  is  but  little  civil  or  social  law.  But  it  is 
not  so  with  those  who  have  brought  this  affliction 
upon  us  ; they  are  protected  ; their  business  is  legal- 
ized; they  are  privileged  to  work  wickedness  with 
greediness,  and  to  wring,  even  from  penury,  the  last 
cherished  article,  around  which  the  affections  and  as- 
sociations of  the  household  have  fondly,  clustered. 
Ah,  but  the  widow ! Where  is  she  ? And  where  her 
orphan  children  ? The  fox  and  the  wild  deer  can  find 
a covert  in  the  forest’s  shade — but  where  is  her’s? 
Where  the  repose  for  her  dear,  dependent  orphans  ? 
Only  in  Heaven ! 0 God,  preserve  them ! Believe  their 
bitter  agonies,  and  minister  to  their  many  wants!” 


CHAPTER  III. 


LEAVING  A DESOLATED  HOME. 

u And  I— but  ah ! can  words  my  loss  declare, 

Or  paint  th’  extremes  of  transport  and  despair ! 

O thou,  beyond  what  verse  or  speech  can  tell, 

My  guide,  my  friend,  my  best  beloved — farewell  I” 

It  was  now  out  of  the  question  for  Dick  Wilson  to 
return  to  the  law-school  at  C -,  where  he  had  com- 

menced his  legal  studies,  and  at  which  he  had  spent 
one  year  to  good  advantage.  With  this  impossibility 
before  him,  he  had  entered  into  correspondence  with 
a lawyer  about  one  hundred  miles  distant,  in  a small 
country  seat,  and  had  succeeded  in  making  satisfactory 
arrangements  with  him ; and  all  that  was  necessary 
now  for  him  was,  as  soon  as  possible,  to  be  on  his 
way. 

He  had  been  from  home  many  a time,  and  long. 
Nearly  all  this  time,  with  occasional  vacation  inter- 
vals, had  been  spent  among  strangers  for  several 
years ; so  that  Dick’s  empty  chair  and  unused  plate 
at  the  family  meal,  were  no  strange  things  to  the 
family. 

To  see  him  preparing  to  go,  and  going,  was  nothing 


72 


DICK  WILSOK. 


new.  This  time,  however,  it  was  peculiar.  When 
he  left  formerly,  it  was  from  a princely  dwelling,  and 
an  unbroken,  happy  household.  These  now  were 
changed.  Friends,  too,  came  forth  to  cheer  him  on 
his  way,  and  bid  him  God-speed.  Now,  he  was  about 
to  leave,  lonely  and  alone,  to  seek  a temporary  home 
among  strangers,  and  with  scarce  enough  of  money  to 
bear  him  to  his  journey’s  end.  He  was  too  noble  to 
take  his  mother’s  money,  further  than  was  absolutely 
necessary  to  enable  him  to  reach  the  end  of  his  jour- 
ney. 

u Mother,”  said  he,  “ I do  feel  sad  this  morning.” 

“ What  is  the  matter,  my  son  ?”  said  Mrs.  Wilson, 
tenderly. 

u Ah  ! mother,”  he  replied,  “ you  cannot  hide  your 
heart  from  me.  I have  noticed  your  struggle  in  pre- 
paring for  this  hour.  It  has  been  a mutual  struggle 
between  us  all.  I have  tried  to  smother  my  feelings, 
but  I cannot.  W e have  all  failed  to  hide  from  each 
other  the  sadness  with  which  this  parting  hour  is  ne- 
cessarily filled.  My  parting  with  you  now  is  so  new 
and  so  strange,  that  I cannot  but  feel  it,  and  painfully 
I find  myself  unable  to  banish  sadness.  I am  going 
now,  and  I look  about  me  for  my  father,  and  am  re- 
minded that  he  is  dead ! I look  for  Ellen,  and  she 
too  is  gone ! When  I left  you  last,  they  were  here, 
and  came  out  with  you  to  cheer  me  on  my  way.  I 
look — yes,  and  for  days  I have  looked  for  friends, 


LEAVING  A DESOLATED  HOME. 


73 


who  never  failed  until  now  to  come,  and  but  three  as 
yet  have  dared  to  venture  within  this  enclosure  of  pov- 
erty. These  absent  ones,  mother,  are  not  dead,  but 
they  have  lost  their  friendship  for  us.  Why  is  it  that 
no  one  comes  to  see  me  before  I go  ?” 

Mrs.  Wilson  and  Eliza  were  mute  from  emotion,  and 
Dick  continued : 

(l  Mother — Eliza — can  you  tell  why  it  is?  Have  I 
done  anything  to  merit  this  ? No,  no  ; you  all  know 
that  I have  not,  and  they  know  it  too.  They  ought 
not  to  hold  me  responsible,  and  make  me  and  you 
sufferers  for  the  rumseller's  crimes  ; for  already  we  are 
suffering  at  his  hands  all  that  we  can  endure.  It  is 
indeed  cruel  that  the  widow  and  her  orphans,  already 
sorely  smitten,  should  be  still  deeper  wounded  by  the 
indifference  of  those  who  were  formerly  friends.  I 
am  now  about  to  leave  the  few  who  are  dear  to  me — 
all  that  I have  left  to  love  in  the  midst  of  averted 
faces — with  those  with  whom  you  are  as  well  acquaint- 
ed as  you  are  with  me,  and  who,  to  all  appearance, 
but  a few  weeks  since,  were  your  best  and  warmest 
friends.  Ah  ! mother,  where  are  they  now  ? I have 
seen  enough  in  a few  weeks — much  that  I have  not 
told  you — to  convince,  not  only  my  judgment,  but 
my  very  heart,  until  it  has  sickened  at  the  sight,  that 
whatever  we  may  have  been,  it  is  now  ail  over ! Yes, 
the  dark  side  of  a dark  picture  is  shading  us  now,  and 

with  a few  exceptions  we  are  friendless,  uncared  for, 
D 


74 


DICK  WILSON”. 


and  alone,  only  because  the  rumseller  has  robbed  us. 
If  this  were  all,  it  could  be  endured.  Oh ! yes ; we 
might  afford  to  part  with  such  heartlessness  without  a 
tear  or  a regret.  But  this  is  not  all.  When  necessity 
compels  you  to  go  into  some  fashionable  street,  you 
will  meet  many  of  these  persons  who  will  take  no  no 
tice  of  you — at  least  they  will  affect  not  to  notice  you, 
lest  they  should  compromise  their  dignity ! As  soon 
as  they  have  passed  by  you,  they  will  whisper  to  their 
companion,  ‘There  goes  the  drunkard’s  widow !’  And 
you,  my  dear  sister,  as  you  meet  them  in  the  street, 
without  any  tokens  of  recognition  on  their  part,  they 
will  say,  ‘There  goes  the  drunkard’s  daughter!’  And 
of  poor  little  Harry,  they  will  say,  ‘ There  goes  the 
drunkard’s  son !’  This,  mother,  to  us  is  an  insupport- 
able load ; for  at  this  time  a generous  sympathy  of 
that  kind,  which  I think  human  beings  are  under  ob- 
ligations to  share  with  each  other,  is  absent  entirely , 
and  the  voice  of  the  multitude  articulates  the  wither- 
ing sentence,  ‘ This  is  the  drunkard's  family  /’  To  me, 
mother,  while  I hope  it  may  not  be  my  sad  misfortune 
to  fall  a victim  to  the  rumseller,  and  be  an  inheritor 
of  the  fortunes  which  always  follow  his  victims  to  the 
grave  ; it  is  no  strange  thing  that  the  drunkard’s  son, 
with  his  cheerless  heritage,  so  often  follows  in  the  path 
of  his  father,  and  becomes  a drunkard  too.  It  is  vain 
to  attempt  to  attribute  this  entirely  to  hereditary  causes, 
for  surrounding  influences  are  the  most  active  agen- 


LEAVING  A DESOLATED  HOME. 


75 


cies,  and  effect  more  than  the  mere  force  of  instinct. 
No,  it  is  not  strange.  It  is  rather  to  be  expected.  It 
is  just  that,  for  the  coming  of  which  those  deepest 
read  in  human  nature  would  fearfully  look.  They 
would  not  regard  its  coming  as  a mystery.  There  is 
no  mystery  about  it.  Self-respect — the  guardian  aegis 
of  society — is  withdrawn,  and  tempters  are  often  but 
too  successful.  Who  cares  for  the  drunkard’s  orphan  ? 
Only  the  few.  Who  cares  for  the  widow?  Who 
speaks  kindly  ? Only  the  few.  The  language  of  the 
many  is  the  language  of  harshness.  Is  it  strange, 
then,  that  a pupil  in  such  a school  as  this — with  the 
tempter  on  the  one  hand, ^ enticing  to  ruin,  and  society 
on  the  other,  repelling  the  victims — is  it  strange  that 
he  should  fall,  and  fall  irrecoverably  ? Kindness  and 
sympathy  have  a marked  and  powerful  influence  for 
good  over  the  minds  and  hearts  of  the  young ; and  if 
we  ever  hope  to  reclaim  the  erring,  we  shall  find  these 
the  most  effectual  agencies  which  we  can  employ  for 
that  purpose.  On  the  other  hand,  unkindness  and  in- 
difference have  directly  the  opposite  effect : they  im- 
pel its  victims  rapidly  onward  in  the  paths  of  vice  and 
and  crime.  Yes,  mother,  until  the  drunkard’s  family 
become  the  objects  of  tender  sympathy,  a succession 
of  drunkards  may  be  expected.  How  much  more 
cheerful  would  our  hearts  have  been  this  morning,  if 
some  kind  friend,  as  heretofore,  li^ff  come  to  speak 
words  of  kindness  tp  us  ! What  a power  it  would 


76 


DICK  WILSON. 


have  had  to  help  this  poor  hoy  on  his  unforeseen  way ! 
What  a power  perhaps  in  shaping  his  destiny ! Ah, 
mother,  it  is  not  Mr.  Wilson’s  son  who  is  leaving  for 
college  this  morning.  No,  no  ; it ’s  the  '■poor  drunk- 
ard's son'  who  is  leaving — for  where  and  for  what,  God 
only  knows,  and  if  Heaven  cares  no  more  than  men, 
he  must  inevitably  be  lost !” 

As  Dick  Wilson,  from  the  fulness  of  his  heart,  was 
giving  out  these  truths,  under  the  influence  of  which 
his  heart  was  smarting,  he  was  suddenly  interrupted 
by  the  entrance  of  one  whose  visits  had  always  been 
welcome,  but  now  they  were  especially  so.  It  was  an 
old  minister  who  had  known  the  family  for  years,  and 
who  had  always  been  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  them, 
and  who  had  spent  several  days  in  searching  out  their 
place  of  retreat.  The  old  gentleman  entered  with  his 
kind  “ good-morning,”  and  seating  himself  hastily,  he 
burst  into  tears.  The  transition  was  too  sudden  for 
him.  He  was  not  prepared  to  witness  such  an  entire 
desolation  as  that  which  stared  him  in  the  face  and 
chilled  his  heart  as  he  entered.  After  some  time,  let- 
ting fall  his  trembling  hands,  which  covered  his  face, 
and  then  wiping  his  eyes  with  his  bandana,  he  slowly 
raised  his  head  and  surveyed  the  room ; and  after  a 
moment,  he  said, 

“ This  is  surely  the  winter  of  your  life.  This,  Mrs. 
Wilson,  is  severe and  then  casting  a glance  min- 


LEAVING  A DESOLATED  HOME.  77 

gled  with  love  and  sorrow,  at  each  of  the  family,  he 
continued — 

“ Mrs.  Wilson,  this  is  a severe  affliction  through 
which  you  and  your  dear  children  are  now  passing. 
You  have  been  made  to  feel  the  fury  of  a storm  for 
which  you  were  not  prepared,  and  you  have  been 
smitten  by  it  to  the  earth.  But  such  storms  as  these 
are  more  frequent  than  you  may  suppose.  This  one 
has  carried  you  and  your  children  far  out  upon  the 
cheerless  ocean,  whose  billows  are  first  created  and 
then  maddened  by  rum.  Your  position  in  society  has 
not  given  you  as  good  an  opportunity  to  observe  and 
know  what  is  passing,  as  mine  has  given  me.  For 
fifty  years  I have  been  a watchman  upon  the  wall.  I 
have  been  unfaithful ; my  heart  has  been  harder  than 
it  ought  to  have  been ; and  yet,  (to  the  praise  of  His 
grace  be  it  spoken,)  I think  He  has  sometimes  enabled 
this  stammering  tongue  to  lift  up  the  voice  upon  the 
wall,  and  win  a few  from  the  paths  of  vice  to  the 
pleasant  ways  of  virtue.  I have  seen  much — much,  at 
at  the  recollection  of  which  I shudder.  But  surely, 
Mrs.  Wilson,  it  is  a great  consolation,  and  one  with 
which  none  should  fail  to  familiarize  themselves  in  the 
day  of  prosperity,  that  there  is  a God.  It  may  do 
when  fortune  is  smiling,  and  when  friends  in  name 
are  flattering,  to  trust  in  this  world ; but  when  the 
long  day  of  bleak  adversity  gathers  about  our  path, 
God  then  is  our  refuge — God,  in  whose  presence  the 


78 


DICK  WILSON. 


selfish  inequalities  of  earth  dwindle  into  insignificance. 
Yon  are  not  alone,  Mrs.  Wilson,  in  this  suffering. 
Would  to  God  that  you  were.  But  you  are  not. 
Thousands  upon  thousands  of  such  wrecks  as  yours 
strew  the  beach  of  this  ocean  ! Yes,  the  land  is  flood- 
ed with  widows  and  orphans  whose  husbands  and 
fathers  perished  in  its  bottom.  But  these  mingling 
prayers  and  groans — these  tears  and  screams — these 
terrible  anathemas  against  the  rumseller,  are  daily  as- 
cending to  heaven ; and  God  will  answer  them,  and 
his  avenging  fury  will  be  poured  out  upon  its  authors 
and  abettors.  It  has  often  brought  sadness  to  my 
heart,  as  I have  looked  at  this  systematic  destroyer  of 
the  human  family,  to  see  the  influences  by  which  it  is 
upheld,  and  without  which,  of  its  own  rottenness , it 
would  fall  to  pieces.  But,  Mrs.  Wilson,  you  have 
yet  much  to  live  for.  You  are  not  only  a widow,  but 
you  are  the  mother  of  orphans,  and  you  have  before 
you  at  this  moment  a treasure  for  which  you  would 
not  take  the  world  in  exchange.  Here  you  see  where 
the  goodness  and  severity  of  God  mingle,  and  where, 
notwithstanding  these  calamities,  he  still  is  love. 
Your  relations  to  these  dear  ones  has  a fearful  import-  * 
ance;  for  they  will  wear  some  impression  of  yourself 
forever.  It  is  not  improbable  that  these  children, 
now  sitting  by  your  side,  will  keep  some  memento  of 
you  throughout  eternity.  Poor  things ! They  are 
pale  and  dejected  now ; but  they  may  become  strong 


LEAVING  A DESOLATED  HOME. 


79 


again  when  this  storm  has  entirely  passed  over.  But- 
still,  sooner  or  later,  like  a rose  on  its  fragile  stem,  or 
the  full-grained  corn  in  the  ear,  they  will  bow  their 
heads,  and  lisp  their  mother’s  name  for  the  last  time 
upon  earth.  Yes,  mother  of  this  riven  group,  your 
tears,  your  breaking  heart  manifest  the  keen  agony  of 
your  grief.  But  it  is  not  improbable  that  when  sun, 
and  moon,  and  stars  shall  fail,  and  when  eternal  noon 
shall  abide  in  its  own  sublimity — its  grand  manifested 
reality  upon  the  engulphed  wreck  of  all  physical  ex- 
istences,— that  still,  far  on  through  the  mysteries  of 
that  eternal  being,  and  still  on  through  that  to  which 
eternal  being  shall  aspire — aye,  in  the  whispers  of 
that  still  beyond — is  it  not  improbable  that  in  light 
and  joy,  or  in  gloom  and  sadness,  the  name  of  mother, 
mother , mother!  will  still  be  lisped.  As  a mother, 
what  a charge  and  treasure  has  God  committed  to 
your  keeping  ! What  a fearful  combination  of  mor- 
tal and  immortal  has  he  entrusted  to  you  for  educa- 
tion ! Then  strive,  as  you  love  those  immortal  be- 
ings, and  are  solicitous  for  their  present  and  future 
welfare,  so  to  touch  the  gentle  chords  of  their  young 
being,  that  each  vibration  may  have  an  upward  ten- 
dency— that  each  echo  may  have  the  still  small  voice 
of  love  for  all,  and  they  will  be  safe — safe  from  the 
rumseller,  and  safe  from  the  master  of  his  feasts.  W e 
do  not  live  in  this  world  for  ourselves  alone.  No 
such  prescribed  existence  belongs  to  our  being.  There 


80 


DICK  WILSON. 


is  no  doubt  that  we  live,  in  part,  for  the  whole  human 
family — certainly  for  those  who  are  walking  in  the 
same  path  with  us — fearfully  for  those  of  our  own 
households.  I pity  that  poor  creature  whose  hopes 
and  whose  fears,  whose  thoughts  and  anxieties  all 
centre  in  himself,  as  if  he  alone  were  the  whole  crea- 
tion. • ]^rs.  Wilson,  so  teach  these  children,  that  every 
aspiration  of  their  hearts  may  be  for  ‘whatsoever 
things  are  lovely,  whatsoever  things  are  pure,5  and 
they  will  never  dishonor  the  sacred  name  of  mother.55 

— Turning  to  Dick,  he  said  : 

“ And  Eichard,  my  boy,  I understand  that  you  are 
about  leaving  home  again  ; you  are  now  leaving  it  as 
you  never  left  it  before,  and  you  will  every  day  get  new 
insights  into  the  mysteries  and  mischiefs  of  the  world. 
You  will  meet  temptation  in  new  forms,  and  coming 
with  new  power,  and  the  only  way  in  which  you  can 
hope  to  save  yourself  from  being  contaminated,  is  to  be- 
gin at  the  beginning,  and  resist  the  first , and  this  will 
give  you  new  strength  to  meet  and  vanquish  every  sub- 
sequent temptation.  You  cannot  tell  what  form  the 
temptation  may  assume,  or  how  beautifully  it  may  ar- 
ray itself,  or  how  eloquently  it  may  plead,  or  how 
sternly  it  may  menace  you.  But  remember,  and  be 
apprized  of  one  thing,  ‘temptation  will  come  ;5  and  if 
you  yield  once,  you  will  probably  yield  again,  and  I 
may  ask,  but  you  cannot  tell  me,  where  it  will  end. 
You  are  one  of  those  young  men  whose  character  I 


LEAVING  A DESOLATED  HOME.  81 

have  often  tried  to  analyze ; yon  are  fortunate,  and 
yet  you  are  unfortunate.  Your  nobleness  will  win 
for  you  distinction,  if  you  live  and  adhere  to  the  ways 
of  virtue — in  which  only  is  safety.  But  nobleness 
has  a back-ground ; and  this  very  thing,  which  is  so 
desirable  in  human  character,  unless  you  guard  it  well, 
will  give  the  polished  viciousness  of  the  world  a great 
advantage  over  you.  You  expect  to  meet  temptation 
at  the  hands  of  the  rumseller,  and  of  the  winebibber , 
but  you  cannot  tell  how  they  will  approach  you,  or 
how  eloquently  they  may  plead  for  your  successful 
distinction.  If  vice  had  vice  written  on  its  forehead , 
if  the  bar-room  had  1 the  broad  WAY  to  ruin,’  writ- 
ten oyer  its  threshold,  if  the  accomplished  knave  had 
knavery  branded  on  his  brow,  if  the  merely  pretended 
friend  of  humanity  had  hypocrisy  stereotyped  on  his 
countenance,  then  there  would  be  less  danger,  my  boy, 
for  your  future.  There  is  but  little  danger  that  the 
poor  degraded  drunkard  will  be  able  to  tempt  you ; 
his  influence,  so  far  as  it  would  go,  would  tend  to  re- 
pel. He,  poor  fellow,  an  object  of  compassion  rather 
than  reproach,  is  the  object  upon  whom  the  rumseller 
has  painted,  in  vivid  colors,  the  fruit  of  his  vocation. 
Many  of  them  have  left  the  touch  of  their  merciless 
pencils  upon  his  trembling  frame  ; they  have  parched 
and  withered  and  burned  up  his  character,  and  have 
imprinted  their  own  in  its  stead ; and  no  matter  what 

he  was,  or  what  he  might  have  been,  he  is  a blank 
D*  6 


82 


DICK  WILSON. 


now,  and  lie  cannot  tempt  yon.  But  if  you  are  in  no 
danger  here,  do  not  apprehend  that  there  is  no  danger. 
You  will  meet  the  gentleman  in  appearance — you  will 
meet  the  friend  by  profession — you  will  be  met  by 
beauty  in  disguise,  full  of  professions,  but  false  at 
heart — you  will  be  met  by  those  whose  words  are  flat- 
tering, but  whose  influence  is  as  the  poison  of  asps. 
These  are  terrific  temptations,  when  the  agent  is  bold 
enough  to  filch  an  angel’s  being,  the  better  to  subserve 
his  master’s  purposes.  Bichard,  I tremble  as  I see  you 
going  out  with  your  noble  nature  to  confront  such 
agencies  as  these,  and  all  the  advice  I can  give  you,  is 
to  remember  to  engrave  it  upon  your  soul,  that  by 
whomsoever  the  sparkling  glass  is  urged  upon  you,  to 
account  that  individual  your  enemy.  Ah ! but  do  you 
say,  1 Who  is  this  enemy  ?’  It  may  be  beauty  in  the 
freshness  of  its  bloom,  or  it  may  be  manhood  in  the 
vigor  of  its  prime,  or  it  may  be  genteel-looking,  but 
depraved  old  age,  in  its  tottering  imbecility.  If  any 
or  all  of  these  should  conspire  to  tempt  you,  think  of 

t 

the  past — think  of  the  future — think  of  those  whom 
your  going  out  at  this  time  will  leave  lonely  indeed. 
Think,  young  man,  of  God  ; for,  after  all,  no  other 
power  can  save  you.  Remember  this,  and  you  will 
do  well.”  And  here  the  old  man,  true  to  a good  old 
custom,  knelt  down  and  offered  up  a fervent  prayer 
for  the  afflicted  family,  and  for  the  safety  of  this  young 
man,  who  was  going  out  from  their  presence  to  try  his 


LEAVING-  A DESOLATED  HOME.  83 

fortune,  under  circumstances  winch,  the  rumseller  had 
imposed  upon  him. 

“ Mother,”  said  Dick,  “ I feel  better  now,  and  you 
look  more  cheerful  too ; I shall  leave  you  with  a 
lighter  heart  than  I expected,  and  oh ! mother,  I shall 
be  often  with  you,  and  if  I only  succeed,  you  will 
soon  be  better  provided  for  than  you  are  now.  And 
you,  my  sweet  sister ; and  you,  my  dear  little  Harry 
— Dick  will  help  you.  Mother,  when  Mrs.  Living- 
ston and  Mrs.  Eagleson  call,  remember  me  kindly  to 
them.” 

The  hour  at  length  arrived  which  was  again  to  sep- 
arate him  from  his  dear  ones.  His  old  trunk,  the 
same  that  he  had  often  carried  with  him  across  the 
Alleghanies,  was  laid  down  at  the  door,  and  little 
Harry  was  seated  upon  it,  looking  intently  at  his 
brother.  Eliza  was  standing  by  his  side,  with  her 
hand  resting  on  his  shoulder,  and  Mrs.  Wilson  stood 
before  him,  with  one  hundred  dollars,  urging  him  to 
take  it,  but  with  a filial  tenderness  he  refused  it,  saying, 
“I  have  to  begin  some  time — I may  as  well  do  it  now.” 
His  trunk  was  placed  upon  the  dray  of  Donald,  the 
good-hearted  old  Scotchman,  who  was  always  to  be 
found  when  they  needed  him,  and  already  his  faith- 
ful horse  was  moving  off. 

Dick  lingered  for  a moment,  as  if  loath  to  leave  the 
spot,  and  then  beginning  with  little  Harry,  he  kissed 
them  all,  and  without  a word,  for  their  hearts  were  too 


84 


DICK  WILSON. 


full  for  utterance,  this  poor  boy  turned  upon  his  un- 
foreseen way. 

They  watched  him  until  he  disappeared,  and  then 
Mrs.  Wilson  fervently  ejaculated,  “ 0 God!  preserve 
my  boy  from  the  rumseller's  snare  /” 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE  CONTRAST  AND  ITS  CAUSE. 

“ And  is  this  all?  Can  reason  do  no  more 
Than  bid  me  shun  the  deep  and  dread  the  shore? 

Sweet  moralist ! afloat  on  life’s  rough  sea, 

The  Christian  has  an  art  unknown  to  thee : 

He  holds  no  parley  with  unmanly  fears; 

Where  duty  bids,  he  confidently  steers, 

Faces  a thousand  dangers  at  her  call, 

And,  trusting  in  his  God,  surmounts  them  all.” 

Frank  Hamilton,  the  former  friend  and  class- 
mate of  Dick  Wilson,  had  just  returned  from  the  law 
school  at  A , at  which  place,  without  any  inter- 

ruption, he  had  spent  the  required  time,  and  was 
ready  to  be  admitted  to  the  bar  at  the  next  regular 
term  of  court.  On  his  return,  he  had  received  the 
cordial  and  endearing  reception  which  loved  ones  are 
sure  to  receive  when  they  return  home,  after  an  ab- 
sence from  its  cherished  endearments.  Who  does  not 
know  the  inexpressible  joys  attendant  upon  the  return 
of  an  absent  one,  when  death,  so  often  the  relentless 
spoiler  of  domestic  peace,  has  not  been  permitted  to 
invade  the  sanctity  of  the  home  circle  ? The  home 
of  Frank  Hamilton  was  just  what  it  had  always  been, 
and  than  his  own  family  there  was  none  pleasanter  on 


86 


DICK  WILSON. 


the  earth,  and  than  his  own  sweet  sister  there  was 
none  whom  he  accounted  dearer  or  lovelier.  They 
had  all  the  elements  of  a happy  and  prosperous 
family.  They  had  wealth  in  abundance ; but  even 
this,  without  wisdom,  is  oftener  an  element  of  ruin 
. than  of  success.  They  were  somewhat  singular  ; for 
with  all  their  getting,  they  had  managed  to  get  un- 
derstanding. Possessing  in  an  eminent  degree  that 
rare  commodity,  the  goddess  of  Fashion  never  found 
in  them  obsequious  worshippers. 

Mr.  Hamilton  was — and  Frank  bid  fair  to  be  just 
like  him — a remarkable  man.  He  usually  heard  all 
the  sermons  which  were  delivered  in  his  own  church 
on  the  Sabbath  day,  and  so  did  his  family.  No  ex- 
cuses were  heard  about  that  house  on  Sabbath  morn- 
ing. Kate  never  said,  “ Mother,  it’s  really  too  warm,” 
or,  “ It’s  really  too  cold,”  or,  “I  have  a slight  indis- 
position,” or,  “My  bonnet  is  not  in  order,  and  I be- 
lieve I sha’n’t  go.”  No,  no ; when  the  carriage  was 
brought  to  the  door,  Mr.  Hamilton  was  always  careful 
to  see  that  all  the  passengers  were  aboard.  He  was  a 
firm  believer,  according  to  the  Scottish  style,  in  the 
“ covenants  of  promise.”  If  he  dissected  a sermon — 
and  this  he  usually  did,  if  it  were  worth  dissecting — 
he  portioned  it  out  to  himself  and  his  own  family, 
and  not  to  his  neighbors.  When  the  gentle  shadows 
of  the  evening  twilight  were  closing  the  Sabbath  day, 
Mr.  Hamilton  would  take  his  accustomed  seat,  and 


THE  CONTRAST  AND  ITS  CAUSE. 


87 


then  the  whole  family  knew  what  was  coming.  Seat- 
ed there  in  the  usual  order,  Mr.  Hamilton  would  first 
help  himself,  and  then  from  the  same  sermon  or  ser- 
mons, as  the  case  might  be,  he  would  mete  out  a por- 
tion to  each  of  his  family,  and  endeavor,  by  explana- 
tion, to  make  them  understand  and  apply  it.  This 
done,  Mr.  Hamilton  would  kneel  down  with  his  fam- 
ily and  invoke  the  blessing  of  God  upon  them  ; and 
here  he  seemed  to  realize  that  he  did  not  live  for  him- 
self and  his  family  alone.  He  prayed  for  everything 
for  which  it  would  not  be  wrong  to  pray.  He  prayed 
for  the  poor  drunkard  and  his  little  helpless  children, 
and  for  his  heart-broken  wife,  and  that  the  rumseller 
• — the  occasion  of  all  this — might  be  brought  to  repent- 
ance, or  else  be  cut  off. 

When  Mr.  Hamilton  met  the  poor  drunkard  in  the 
street,  whose  appearance  indicated  the  excruciating 
agony  of  the  dread  spoiler,  then  he  had  time  and  he 
had  a heart  to  stop  and  remonstrate  tenderly  with 
him ; and  often  from  the  lips  of  the  victim,  tottering 
upon  the  verge  of  the  grave,  and  supported  by  the 
hand  of  his  unfed  and  unclothed  child,  did  Mr.  Hamil- 
ton hear  the  interrogation,  u Why  do  you  keep  these 
adders  in  the  street?  Why  do  you  permit  these 
wholesale  curses  to  exist  ? I cannot  help  it.  I am 
the  rumseller’s  slave.  This  child  is  the  rumseller’s 
slave.  My  wife  is  the  rumseller’s  slave.  Why  don’t 
you  help  us  to  break  our  chains?” 


88 


DICK  WILSON. 


When  Mr.  Hamilton  met  the  boy,  about  whom  the 
fruits  of  this  curse  was  hanging  in  gloomy  profusion, 
with  a “Please,  sir,  give  me  a penny  to  buy  some 
bread,”  then  he  had  an  open  heart  and  a kind  word. 
He  never  stopped  to  say  to  himself — “ Well,  I don’t 
know.  This  boy  may  be  a little  thief,  or  a little  im- 
poster,” and  then  bid  him  be  gone.  He  was  always 
careful  that  his  influence  should  never  mingle  with 
the  rumseller’s,  in  driving  an  almost  infant  beggar  to 
the  commission  of  crime.  The  great  pity  and  the 
great  misfortune  for  the  poor  drunkard  is  that  so  few 
have  a heart  to  do  what  they  have  plenty  of  time  to  do. 

In  the  midst  of  these  associations  we  meet  Frank 
Hamilton  at  home,  enjoying  them  to  the  very  full,  de- 
lighting himself  with  the  pleasant  and  familiar  ap- 
pearance, of  everything  about  him,  the  most  of  which 
had  been  there  from  his  earliest  recollection.  While 
he  was  musing  in  the  midst  of  these  associations,  and 
contemplating  the  beneficent  influence  which  they 
had  exerted  over  his  life,  he  was  suddenly  interrupt- 
ed by  the  entrance  of  Kate,  who,  with  her  loud, 
hearty  laugh,  was  making  everything  ring.  She  ap- 
proached to  where  Frank  was  sitting,  and  laid  her 
hand  upon  his  head.  It  was  plain  enough  from  her 
mischievous  appearance  that  there  was  fun  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  it  was  just  as  plain  that  she  knew 
all  about  it,  and  couldn’t  keep  it  half  a moment 
longer.  Suddenly  taking  from  her  pocket  a beauti- 


THE  CONTRAST  AND  ITS  CAUSE. 


89 


fully  embossed  note,  she  held  it  before  his  eyes, 
saying— 

“ Here,  Mr.  Frank  Hamilton,  Esquire,  Junior — for 
this  is  the  direction — here,  I apprehend,  is  something 
especially  sweet  for  you ; for  it  is  a mark  of  very 
great  consideration  for  your  precious  self  from  Mrs. 
B .” 

Frank  at  once  opened  the  evidence  of  Mrs.  B ’s 

consideration,  and  then  tried  hard  to  read  it ; and  at 
length  he  said  to  Kate,  smiling : 

“ This  may  be  my  death  warrant,  for  all  I can  make 
out  of  it.  Suppose  you  take  it,  and  see  what  you  can 
do  with  it.” 

Kate  took  the  note ; but  all  her  ingenuity  could  do, 
it  wouldn’t  read.  She  turned  it  right  side  up  and 
right  side  down,  and  every  other  side  ; but  to  no  avail. 

“ Well,”  said  Kate,  “ what’s  the  use  of  trying?  I 
guess  it  wasn’t  intended  to  be  read.  Still,  they  were 
thoughtful  enough  to  send  the  interpretation  thereof 
by  the  black  Daniel  who  brought  it.  He  said  it  was 
an  invitation  to  attend  a mighty  select  party  at  Mrs. 

B ’s,  on  next  Thursday  evening,  at  half-past  eight 

o’clock.” 

u Kate,  who  is  this  Mrs.  B ? I have  no  recol- 

lection of  any  such  person.” 

“ Oh,  she  has  sprung  up  since  you  left;  or  at  least, 
she  has  but  recently  come  into  notice.  They  have 
been  in  the  city  for  many  years,  but  their  business 


90 


DICK  WILSOK. 


was  not  very  reputable,  and  bence  they  were  not 
known.  But  they  became  wealthy,  and  retired  to 
private  life.  This  accounts  for  that  stubborn  note.” 

“ What  was  their  business  formerly,  Kate  ?” 

“ Rumselling.” 

“ Ah ! — rumselling  ? And  now,  because  they  have 
retired  wealthy,  at  the  expense,  it  may  be,  of  a thou- 
sand wretched  homes,  they  are  very  respectable! 
Kate,  I don’t  want  to  go  there.” 

“ You  must  go.  There  is  no  way  in  the  world  that 
you  can  get  out  of  it.” 

“Well,  Kate,  you  havn’t  seen  all  the  world  yet, 
nor  all  the  ways  of  it,  either.  I guess  I could  get  out 
of  it  if  I set  myself  about  it.  I suppose,  however,  it 
will  be  best  to  go.” 

“That’s  right,  Frank;  be  cheerful  now  about  it. 
These  people  have  abandoned  that  business,  and  if 
they  want  to  do  right  during  the  remainder  of  their 
lives,  they  ought  to  be  encouraged.” 

“ That  depends  on  the  motives  by  which  they  were 
prompted  to  give  it  up.  If  it  was  from  policy,  in 
order  to  find  their  way  into  fashionable  life,  I wouldn’t 
give  much  for  it.  If  it  was  from  a conviction  of  the 
pernicious  tendencies  of  their  business,  then  certainly 
they  ought  to  be  encouraged.” 

“You  will  find  wine  there,  Frank,  plenty  of  it,  and 
if  you  should  be  taken  with  sudden  pains)  I have  no 


THE  CONTRAST  AND  ITS  CAUSE.  91 

doubt  that  you  could  be  accommodated  with  some- 
thing stronger.” 

“That’s  the  devil’s  own  kind  of  repentance,  Kate. 
I see  through  the  whole  thing  now.” 

“ They  have  a beautiful  daughter.” 

“ She  has  been  brought  up  in  a bad  school;  Kate.” 

“ She  is  rich,  too.” 

“Her  riches  came  through  a bad  channel,  my 
sister.” 

“ Caroline  will  be  there.  What  do  you  say  now  ?” 

“ Nonsense,  my  sister.  I understand  you  very  well. 
You  have  the  same  opinion  about  this  matter  that  I 
have.  But  Caroline ! — Why,  if  you  had  seen  what  I 
have  seen  amongst  the  hills  of  western  Pennsylvania, 
you  wouldn’t  speak  of  her  in  several  moons ! I have 
no  peculiar  attachment  in  that  way,  and  I don’t  think 
I ever  shall  have.” 

“ Heigh-ho  ! Frank — you  don’t  know  what  you  may 
have  before  you.” 

“ That’s  true  ; but  I know  what  I will  try  to  keep 
from  before  me — anything  that  savors  of  the  rumsel- 
ler’s  temptation.” 

“ Frank,  what  objection  can  you  have  to  Caroline  ? 
She  is  rich,  handsome,  and  well  educated.” 

“For  several  years  I have  been  out  beyond  the  re- 
straints of  fashion,  amongst  those  whose  young  spirits, 
when  once  they  have  tasted  of  freedom  from  its  chains, 
are  too  noble  to  be  bound  by  it  again.  This  is  a good 


92 


DICK  WILSON. 


place  to  see  and  study  human  nature,  and  I have  tried 
to  improve  it.  I have  formed,  or  have  tried  to  form, 
some  idea  of  what  a real  life  is.  I do  not  mean  a 
sleepy,  dreamy  life,  in  which  formality  is  an  abiding 
law  ; but  I mean  an  active,  sober,  industrious  life — a 
life  which  in  some  sense  may  be  beneficial  to  others  as 
well  as  to  one’s  self.  Now,  my  objection  to  Caroline 
is  precisely  my  objection  to  going  to  this  party.  As 
you  say,  she  is  rich  and  well  educated  ; but  you  must 
excuse  me  when  I say  that  I do  not  think  her  beauti- 
ful. Caroline  has  been  educated  in  the  school  of  that 
great  mocker,  the  wine-cup.  She  has  had  the  exam- 
ple of  her  parents,  in  this  way  instructing  her  that  it 
was  harmless,  and  not  only  harmless,  but  reputable. 
I have  laid  it  down  as  a rule,  or  rather  as  a principle 
for  the  government  of  my  life,  that  on  all  occasions 
wherever  it  is  possible,  I will  fly  from  this  temptation. 
This,  I apprehend,  is  the  safe  way ; for  when  persons 
recklessly,  and  in  opposition  to  the  dictates  of  their 
own  better  judgment,  put  themselves  into  the  way  of 
temptation  and  danger,  they  cannot  tell  how  it  will 
result,  or  how  far  the  consequences  may  reach.  I ap- 
prehend, Kate,  that  in  this  path  you  will  find  more 
captives  than  conquerors.  My  sister,  you  love  your 
brother,  and  you  think  that  he  is  perfect.  This,  let 
me  assure  you,  is  a great  mistake.  Your  brother  has 
still  with  him  the  impulses  of  youth,  with  many  of 
its  indiscretions ; and  he  could  be  led  astray,  tempted, 


THE  CONTRAST  AND  ITS  CAUSE. 


93 


rained,  and  drawn  by  an  irresistible  power  to  tbe  door 
of  tbe  lowest  rumselling  den  in  this  city,  if  he  would 
suffer  himself  to  take  the  bait  which  the  rumseller 
manages  to  throw  out,  often,  in  the  social  circle  of 
high  life.  I believe,  if  it  had  not  been  for  this  sacred 
book,  and  what  I have  learned  from  it,  and  the  fervent 
prayers  of  my  father  and  mother,  that  I should  have 
been  ruined.  Kate,  I have  thought  that  you  prayed 
for  me  too — I know  you  did.” 

“Yes,  Frank,  I have.  Could  I forget  you ? Could 
a sister  forget  her  brother?” 

“ Many  are  thus  forgotten,  Kate,  not  only  by  sis- 
ters, but  by  entire  households.  I know  many  a poor 
young  man  who  never  heard  a prayer  in  his  father’s 
house,  and  for  whom,  in  his  absence,  no  prayers  were 
offered.  I knew  that  I was  remembered  by  my  house- 
hold. These,  my  sister,  were  the  influences  which 
heretofore  have  enabled  me  to  withstand  temptation, 
and  now  I would  not  have  Caroline,  and  risk  the  con- 
sequences, for  her  weight  in  gold.  Suppose  I had  re- 
turned to  you  a drunkard — for  such  a thing  would 
have  been  possible.  Many  a young  man  returns 
home  in  this  way.  Many  an  one  in  this  way  goes 
home  again  with  blighted  prospects  and  a heavy 
heart.  If  this  had  been  my  lot,  what  would  have 
paid  you,  my  sister,  and  my  dear  father  and  mother, 
for  the  sacrifice  ? You  could  not  name  the  price.” 
Frank,  you  are  certainly  right,  ilut  do  you  think, 


94 


DICK  WILSON. 


my  brother,  that  in  the  simple  form  of  wine,  the  pure 
juice  of  the  grape,  there  can  be  the  danger  of  which 
you  speak?” 

u The  pure  juice  of  the  grape  ! Kate,  there  is  not  a 
more  systematic  counterfeiting  organization  in  the 
world  than  belongs  to  the  rumselling  business.  Pure 
wine ! Why,  in  the  whole  system  of  adulteration, 
this  is  the  most  poisonous  and  nauseating  article  they 
make,  and  yet  on  this  miserable  stuff,  filthy  as  it  is, 
many  commence  their  career  of  dissipation.  Ah! 
Kate,  if  the  gloomy  horrors,  the  unapproachable  mis- 
eries of  that  dark  monster-mocker  could  be  painted 
out  before  you  on  the  canvas,  you  would  tremble. 
If  you  could  hear,  as  they  have  been  heard,  the  touch- 
ing pleas  which  misery,  in  all  its  grades,  has  made  to 
the  agents  of  the  monster  wickedness,  to  cease,  and 
spare  their  friends, — to  save  them  from  premature 
death  and  .a  drunkard’s  grave, — you  would  more  than 
tremble.  Many  an  one  who  has  tasted  wine  for  the 
first  time  in  a gay  group,  has  finished  in  the  lowest 
den.  I suppose  we  had  better  go  to  that  party,  as  it 
may  give  offence  if  we  do  not.  But  I do  most  fer- 
vently hope  that  the  time  may  soon  come  when  an  in- 
telligent and  sympathetic  humanity  will  no  longer 
permit  this  mischievous  business  to  be  carried  on  un- 
der the  sanction  of  law.  The  Italian  mode  of  licens- 
ing the  assassin  is  not  productive  of  so  much  misery 
as  this  is;  for  at  his  hand  the  victim  dies  quickly.  A 


THE  CONTRAST  AND  ITS  CAUSE. 


95 


groan — a struggle — a gasp,  and  it  is  over ; but  bis 
character  survives.  But  the  rum-monger’s  dagger  is 
like  the  lightning’s  fiery  bolt : it  selects  often  the  lofti- 
est and  finest  tree  in  the  forest,  and  then  comes  down 
in  its  fury  to  rend  it ; and  its  beauty  is  gene  long  ere 
its  decay.  Here  is  the  drunkard’s  great  misfortune, 
and  the  rumseller’s  great  crime  : the  character  dies  first , 
and  often  the  immortal  being  waits  the  slower  process 
of  constitutional  decay.” 


CHAPTER  Y. 


THE  CONTRAST  AND  ITS  CAUSE — CONTINUED. 

<l  If  hindrances  obstruct  thy  way, 

Thy  magnanimity  display, 

And  let  thy  strength  be  seen ; 

But  oh ! if  fortune  fill  thy  sail, 

With  more  than  a propitious  gale, 

Take  half  thy  canvas  in.” 

The  evening  on  which  Prank  Hamilton  was  to  be 

introduced  to  Mrs.  B ber  pretty  daughter,  and  a 

very  select  party,  at  length  came. 

“ Well,  Kate,”  said  Frank,  “are  you  ready  to  go? 

If  we  must  go — and  I suppose  Mrs.  B , as  a special 

favor  to  us,  has  decreed  that, — I think  we  had  better 
be  moving  soon ; for  if  possible,  I should  like  to  get 
there  at  an  early  hour.  Some  persons  manage  to  be 
the  last  to  arrive  on  all  occasions.  This,  I suppose,  is 
to  give  as  good  an  opportunity  for  observation  as  pos- 
sible.” 

Frank  had  been  poring  over  the  pages  of  a late 
monthly,  and  during  all  the  time  in  which  he  was 
speaking  to  his  sister,  he  did  not  once  raise  his  eyes 
from  the  page,  and  he  started  in  surprise  when  Kate 
informed  him,  that  already  she  had  been  waiting  his 
movements  more  than  half  an  hour. 


THE  CONTRAST  AND  ITS  CAUSE. 


97 


“ Well,  then,  if  we  must,  let’s  be  off  quick.  I’m 
sure  I don’t  want  to  be  late ; though  the  fact  is,  I 
should  rather  not  go.” 

“ You  would  look  much  better,  my  brother,”  said 
Kate,  “if  you  would  turn  your  attention,  with  as 
much  expedition  as  possible,  to  making  some  arrange- 
ments in  the  way  of  improving  your  personal  appear- 
ance, before  you  go.” 

“ What’s  wrong  now  ?”  inquired  Frank. 

“Nothing;  only  I would  like  to  see  you  brush  off 
a little  of  your  4 back-woods’  carelessness.” 

“ That’s  the  way  it  goes,  Kate  ; but  I do  wish  that 
you  had  a great  many  things  in  this  endless  city  which 
belong  to  1 back- woods’  life.  If  you  had,  you  would 
not  be  quite  so  particular  about  shining  collars,  boots, 
&c.  But,  what  do  you  want  me  to  do,  it’s  getting 
late  ; we  must  be  in  a hurry.” 

“ Frank,”  replied  Kate,  “ your  own  taste  must  direct 
you ;”  and  off  he  went,  to  make  his  preparations.  In 
a few  moments  he  returned  again ; and  to  the  eye  of 
an  exquisite,  it  would  seem,  not  much  improved ; and 
just  as  he  entered,  he  exclaimed : 

“ Kate,  how  will  this  do  ?” 

“Very  well,  my  brother.” 

“ Now,  let  us  go.  I will  try  to  equip  myself  in  the 
robes  of  fashion,  and  arm  myself  to  the  teeth  with 
formality.  But  I declare,  it  is  so  long  since  I have 
made-  any  attempt  to  change  myself  into  anything 
E 7 


98 


DICK  WILSON. 


else  than  a human  being,  that  I am  afraid  now  I shall 
make  a failure.  I am  sure  that-  this  harness  will  be  a 
mighty  bad  fit,  and  I don’t  believe  that  I shall  be 
able  to  keep  it  on ; but  perhaps  I may  do  so. 

“Just  look  here  a moment,  Kate,  and  be  sober 
about  it,  if  you  don’t  I’ll  call  mother.  Has  this  collar 
a fashionable  sit  ?” 

“Yes,  Frank.” 

“How  do  I look?” 

“ Yery  well,  I think.” 

With  this  they  started  for  Mrs.  B ’s,  whose 

wealth  rather  than  worth  had  brought  her  into  notice. 
Frank  felt  uneasy,  for  it  was  the  first  time  in  several 
years  that  he  had  made  one  of  a fashionable  party,  but 
still,  he  had  his  “ wits,”  about  him,  and  a good,  well- 
founded  principle,  to  assist  in  giving  point  and  effect 
to  them. 

“ Kate,”  said  he,  as  they  tripped  along  the  smooth 
pavements,  which  reflected  in  their  faces  the  glare  of 
the  street  lamps — “if  my  preferences  were  consulted, 
I should  much  have  preferred  to  remain  at  our  own 
quiet  home,  where  we  would  have  enjoyed  the  free 
communion  of  kindred  and  congenial  spirits ; while 
here  we  must  be  tortured  by  a cold  and  heartless  for- 
mality— by  grossness  flimsily  hidden  by  external  glit 
ter,  and  be  compelled,  by  the  merciless  forms  of  social 
despotism,  to  meet  and  mingle  with  those  with  whom 


THE  CONTRAST  AND  ITS  CAUSE. 


99 


we  have  no  sympathy,  and  for  whom  we  have  no 
respect.” 

“ Stop,  stop  this  nonsense,  Frank,  we  are  just  at  the 
door,”  said  Kate. 

“I  declare,”  said  Frank,  “Mrs.  B has  got  up 

pretty  well.  By  my  word,  this  is  a lift  for  a super- 
anuated  rumseller.  How  in  creation  did  this  come 
about?  It’s  a perfect  phenomenon  to  me.” 

“ Stop,  Frank,  they’ll  hear  every  word,”  said  Kate. 

At  this  moment  the  brilliant  hall,  filled  with  fashion 
at  the  bidding  of  notes  which  none  could  decipher, 
broke  fully  upon  him,  and  at  the  next  moment  he 
stood  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd,  going  through  the 
ceremony  of  greeting  old  acquaintances,  and  being 
introduced  to  new  faces. 

At  length  Mr.  and  Mrs.  B came  to  pay  their 

respects  to  Frank,  and  as  they  were  on  their  way,  he 
almost  smiled  to  see  them  coming.  They  were 
elegantly  dressed ; but  their  dress,  their  gait,  and  their 
manners  were  perfect  antipodes ; between  them  there 
was  no  agreement.  Frank’s  eye  was  quick — and  silk, 
and  satin,  and  all  the  rest  couldn’t  hide  from  him,  the 
“old  times”  of  their  history.  They  paid  their  respects 
and  retired  across  the  parlor.  He  had  just  concluded 
to  seat  himself,  when  suddenly  a group  of  young 
ladies,  numbering  about  half  a dozen,  were  seen  bend- 
ing their  way  towards  him.  He  knew  them  every 
one,  and  Caroline  A was  of  the  number.  The 


100 


DICK  WILSON. 


ladies  at  length  reaching  him,  by  a kind  of  dead  march 
pace,  said, — 

“It  gives  ns  much  pleasure  to  see  you,  Mr.  Hamil- 
ton ; we  hope  you  are  well.” 

“ Thank  you,  ladies,”  replied  Frank,  “I  am  glad  to- 
see  you,  and  hope  you  are  also  well.  But  come,  girls, 
don’t  call  me  mister,  if  you  please — call  me  Frank  ; I 
do  believe  it  is  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I have 
been  called  Mr.  Hamilton.” 

“ Your  wish  shall  be  our  pleasure,”  they  replied,  as 
they  turned  to  leave,  in  a style  which  was  as  much  as 
to  say,  “ you  are  not  done  with  us  yet,  young  gentle- 
man.” ' Perhaps,  Frank  thought,  they  were  glad  to 
see  him ; yes  indeed,  but  they  were  a great  deal  better 
pleased  to  have  an  opportunity  at  his  expense  of  ex- 
hibiting themselves ! 

“ Good  evening,  Misther  Frank,”  said  an  old  man, 
by  whom  he  had  seated  himself.  “ I hear  you’re  but 
jist  now  got  home  from  the  lamin’ ; and  they  tell  me 
you’re  done  man,  and  that  ye  ain't  a collegian  any 
longer.  It’s  a bad  place  for  boys,  isn’t  it,  Misther 
Frank?  Faith,  thin,  I expect  you  had  good  times 
there,  hadn’t  ye  ?” 

u Oh  yes,  Uncle  Peter,”  answered  Frank,  “I  guess 
I had  fine  times — finer  than  I shall  most  probably 
ever  have  again.” 

“ I thought  so,  Misther  Frank.  Ye  see,  ye  had  no- 
thing to  do  in  the  first  place  but  to  act  the  gintleman  ; 


THE  CONTRAST  AND  ITS  CAUSE. 


101 


and  thin,  by  me  soul,  what’s  a great  deal  bether — ye 
had  plenty  of  money  to  do  it  with.  You  see,  Misther 
Frank,  yer  father,  like  meself,  he’s  rich.  Is  it  the  law 
that  ye  thinks  of  lamin’  next,  Misther  Frank,  or  does 
ye  think  to  be  a ministher  ? It  seems  to  be  a great 
pity,  Misther  Frank,  if  ye  thought  to  be  a ministher 
in  these  times.  In  my  poor  ould  counthry,  it  was  a 
brave  business,  and  if  poor  men  got  into  it  there,  they 
were  sure  to  get  rich  ; but  in  this  country,  if  rich  men 
get  into  it,  they’re  sure  to  get  poor.  Now,  Misther 
Frank,  don’t  be  a ministher ! If  ye  have  a fancy  for 
the  ‘ law,’  it  will  do  very  well,  and  ye’ll  make  money 
too — and  ye’ll  get  rich,  and  ye’ll  be  a great  man — and 
ye’ll  be  able  to  keep  in  yer  house  the  best  wines  in  the 
country — and  ye’ll  be  able  to  do  jist  whatever  ye  may 
like  to  do  ; indeed,  Misther  Frank,  ye  will,  if  ye  only 
takes  up  the  ‘law !’  But  Misther  Frank,  if  ye  takes 
up  the  ministhry,  as  it’s  called,  thin  ye’ll  be  poor  all 
the  days  of  yer  life.  Ye  may  git  to  Heaven  yer- 
self,  after  a while,  perhaps,  when  you’ve  tugged  and 
strived  till  yer  tired  of  life,  but  ye’ll  not  git  many 
with  ye,  indeed  ye  won’t,  so  ye  had  better  make  up 
yer  mind  to  do  jist  what  the  most’s  doing — -look  after 
yerself  first,  and  don’t  trouble  the  1 ould  book’  too 
much.’7 

“Well,  Uncle  Peter,”  answered  Frank,  “I  cannot 
tell  what  I may  make,  but  I have  studied  law  already, 
and  I have  studied  human  nature  some,  and  the  ‘ old 


102 


DICK  WILSON. 


book’  some  too,  and  I think  it’s  better  than  any  or  all 
of  them  put  together.” 

u Thin,  Misther  Frank,  yer  going  to  be  yer  father 
npset,  and  every  one  to  their  likin’,”  muttered  Uncle 
Peter,  apparently  not  satisfied  that  he  had  failed  to 
produce  conviction  on  Frank’s  mind  by  his  eloquence. 
Poor  Uncle  Peter,  knew  all  about  a dray  and  a dray 
horse,  and  how  to  manage  a hogshead  or  a large  box 
to  the  best  advantage.  Here  he  would  have  been  at 
home,  perfectly  so ; but  for  his  present  position,  he 
needed  a whole  new  creation,  which  money  could 

never  give  him,  and  like  Mr.  and  Mrs.  B , he  was 

most  profoundly  awkward,  and  equally  ignorant. 

During  Uncle  Peter’s  harangue,  Frank  was  by  no 
means  an  attentive  auditor,  for  in  another  room  he 
thought  he  saw  a disposition  manifested  to  bring  mis- 
hap to  some  one.  They  were  the  same  persons  who, 
on  his  entrance,  had  greeted  him  last,  and  who,  on 
leaving,  had  given  him  more  than  half  a promise  that 
they  would  call  again,  and  hence  it  was  that  he  divid- 
ed his  attention  between  them  and  Uncle  Peter. 

It  very  often  happens  that  temptations  suddenty  be- 
set us,  and  come  with  such  force,  while  thus  unpre- 
pared,  as  to  make  us  their  captives.  Such  was  the 
object  of  the  young  ladies,  whose  sudden  presence 
and  absence  have  been  noticed.  They  had  determined 
to  try  their  powers  over  Frank,  to  see  if  his  reputed 
firmness,  from  all  that  can  intoxicate , could  withstand 


THE  CONTRAST  AND  ITS  CAJTSE. 


103 


the  persuasive  voice  of  the  fashionable  young  lady, 
and  the  fashionable  wine-glass. 

The  next  moment  they  stood  before  him,  and  there 
was  no  difficulty  in  reading,  in  their  manners  and  fea- 
tures, that  some  plot  had  been  concerted,  and  was 
about  to  be  put  into  execution.  They  stood  in  such 
a position  as  to  receive  the  fullest  attention  of  the 
company  ; and  one  of  the  number,  turning  herself  in 
such  a way  as  to  command  the  best  possible  view  of 
the  guests,  and  of  Frank  too,  displayed  a goblet,  in 
which  the  fiery  eye  of  w ine  was  sparkling  and  delighting 
itself,  in  the  prospect  of  adding  another  victim  to  the 
gloomy  caravan  of  its  maddened  votaries ! She  said, — 
“Will  Mr.  Frank  Hamilton  please  to  give  the  com- 
pany a sentiment  ?” 

Frank  replied — “ It  will  afford  me  a great  deal  of 
pleasure  to  give  you  a sentiment,  ladies ; but  the  com- 
pany have  made  no  such  request.” 

“ Well,  then,  give  us  a sentiment,  and  that  will  do 
for  the  whole  company  ; it  will  be  like  saying  grace 
at  the  table — all  can  partake  /”  . 

“With  pleasure,”  said  Frank,  fixing  his  eye  upon 
the  charmer , and  holding  it  there  until  he  was  sure 
that  every  one  in  the  house,  including  Uncle  Peter, 
gave  attention,  and  then  he  said,  in  a clear  and  distinct 
voice,  while  the  wine  sparkled  in  the  presence  of  the 
company — “‘For  at  last  it  biteth  like  a serpent 

AND  STINGETH  LIKE  AN  ADDER !’  ” 


104 


DICK  WILSON. 


The  effect  was  electric,  and  the  column  of  attack 
quailed  for  a moment,  and  many,  whose  lips  were 
longing  for  it,  were  amazed.  They  were  not  routed, 
however.  They  were  in  the  house  of  a veteran  com- 
mander, who  had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing  small 
things  for  a sixpence  ; and  they  had  great,  courage,  and 
came  again,  saying : 

“ Perhaps,  Frank,  you  can’t  relish  wine.” 

“You  are  mistaken, ladies,” said  he,  “I  do  relish  it; 
but  I have  seen  so  many  bad  consequences  resulting 
from  its  use,  I have  put  myself  into  a school  of  absti- 
nence for  safety ; and  on  every  occasion  I will  try  to 
say  what  I now  say — 1 Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan !’  ” 

“ Taste  this,  Frank  ; it  will  do  you  no  harm  — I am 
very  sure  it  won’t.  What ! a taste  of  wine  inj  \re  any 
one  ? No,  I’m  sure  it  won’t.” 

“So  thought  many,”  replied  Frank,  “who  ^re  at 
this  moment  writhing  under  its  cruelties — wl  o are 
weeping  while  you  are  laughing  over  it — wl  ) are 
cursing  while  you  are  praising  it.” 

“ It  won’t  kill  you,  Frank.  Just  taste  it.” 

“So  said  its  master,”  replied  Frank,  “ on  an  v,her 
occasion  : 1 Thou  shalt  not  surely  die.’  Did  he  si  eak 
the  truth  then  ?” 

Here  the  entire  column  was  broken,  and  thej  re- 
treated amidst  the  illy-suppressed  titters  of  the  be*  *er 
part  of  the  company. 

Uncle  Peter,  who  was  seated  nearest  Frank,  look d. 


THE  CONTRAST  AND  ITS  CAUSE. 


105 


dumbfounded.  It  was  plain  enough,  that  he  wanted  at 
least  to  wet  his  lips,  and  he  rose  to  leave,  muttering — 

“ Misther  Frank,  that’s  the  effect  of  yer  rasin\  and 
it’s  bad.” 

Uncle  Peter’s  place  was  supplied  in  a moment  by  a 
gentleman,  who,  as  soon  as  he  was  seated,  said  to 
Frank : 

“You  are  a noble  fellow.  You  have  done  yourself 
great  credit  this  evening,  for  the  noble  stand  you  have 
taken  against  fashionable  wine-bibbing.” 

“Iam  gratified  with  your  good  opinion,  sir,”  re- 
plied Frank  ; “and  of  all  others , it  is  the  compliment 
which  I would  soonest  merit.  I am  very  sure  that  if 
I remain  unscathed  by  this  pestilence,  I must  not  lis- 
ten to  the  philosophy  of  fashionable  wine-bibbers, 
or  put  my  life  in  the  keeping  of  the  rumseller,  for  the 
one  is  synonymous  with  the  other,  and  the  end  of 
both  is  destruction.” 

Frank  had  spoken  firmly,  but  not  harshly.  His 
speech  was  characterized  by  a courteous  dignity  of  the 
true  gentleman,  and  even  those  who  were  intensely 
mortified  by  it  could  find  no  fault. 

“ Mr.  Hamilton,”  said  the  gentleman  by  his  side, 
“in  this  case  you  have  done  your  duty  well,  and  I 
think,  that  every  one  present  is  under  obligations  to 
you  for  the  good  example  you  have  given,  of  princi- 
ple triumphing  over  pride,  and  its  tendencies  to  vice. 

Will  you  tell  me,  Mr.  Hamilton,  how  it  is  possible 
E* 


106 


DICK  WILSON. 


for  persons  occupying  places  in  such,  society  as  tins,  or 
indeed  in  any  society,  to  encourage  the  use  of  that 
which  they  know  to  be  the  most  prolific  source  of 
crime  and  misery?  These  people  can  hardly  put 
their  heads  out  of  their  own  doors  without  seeing  the 
fearful  consequences.” 

“Well,”  replied  Frank,  “ I do  not  know  that  I can 
give  you  a satisfactory  answer;  but  to  my  own  mind 
it  is  clear  enough,  that  this  apparent  recklessness  is 
the  result  of  one  or  more  of  these  causes,  namely: 
indifference , ignorance , cupidity , or  viciousness . Who 
can  pass  along  these  streets  and  be  ignorant  ? Who 
can  live  in  the  midst  of  these  consequences,  which 
startle  the  stranger  as  soon  as  he  enters,  until  his  very 
heart  sickens,  and  not  abhor  it  ? I tell  you,  sir,  there 
is  something  horrible  about  this  business.  Charity 
will  hardly  believe  that  it  is  ignorance.  I believe  it  is 
indifference ; and  what  kind  of  indifference  ? The 
same  that  may  be  laying  the  foundation  of  their  chil- 
dren’s ruin.” 

Many  things,  of  course,  had  occurred  during  the 
evening;  and  when  all  was  over,  the  sister  and 
brother  were  making  their  way  toward  home.  Frank 
was  anxious  to  know  what  his  sister  thought  of  his 
management  of  matters,  but  did  not  venture  to  ask 
her  until  they  were  quietly  seated  at  home,  and  even 
•hen  he  dreaded  to  do  so.  At  last  lie  mustered  courage 
and  said : 


THE  CONTRAST  ANT)  ITS  CAUSE.  107 

“ Kate,  how  did  I manage  matters  this  evening  ?” 

“ Admirably,  my  brother.” 

“Upon  my  word,  Kate,”  he  replied,  “ those  are 
comfortable  words  to  me.  I am  glad  to  hear  yon  say 
that.” 

“ Frank,  yon  mortified  those  girls  almost  to  death, 
and  I think  they  will  not  try  a prank  of  that  kind 
very  soon  again.  They  had  the  matter  pretty  well 
arranged.  There  was  an  abundance  of  wine  on  hand, 

and  Mrs.  B and  the  girls  were  very  anxious  to  have 

it  going  around ; and  they  thought  if  they  asked  you 
for  a sentiment,  you  could  not  help  giving  it,  and  you 
could  not  avoid  drinking  with  them,  and  then  it 
would  have  gone  round  merrily.  I heard  most  of  the 
plan  when  they  were  arranging  it.” 

“Well,  Kate,  I gave  them  a sentiment — the  most 
appropriate  sentiment  in  the  world  for  the  occasion, 
and  I hope  it  will  do  them  good.” 

“But,  Frank,  your  sentiment  tumbled  Mrs.  B 

mto  perfect  confusion  and  mortification.  She  was 
very  angry  at  the  girls,  and  said  some  pretty  hard 
things,  I tell  you,  about  their  destroying  her  select 
party,  &c.  I can’t  tell  you  how  she  did  go  on.  She 
told  them  that  wine  wouldn’t  be  a guest  at  her  parties 
any  more.”. 

“ Good !”  exclaimed  Frank ; “ if  she  only  keeps  her 
word ; but  that’s  among  the  doubtful  things,  I imag- 
ine. I am  really  glad,  Kate,  that  they  commenced 


108 


DICK  WJLSON. 


with  me.  It  is  a fine  thing,  my  sister,  to  have  a prin- 
ciple, and  then  to  make  it  a foundation  of  one’s  ac- 
tion. Here,  I apprehend,  is  the  great  misfortune  : too 
many  make  their  principle  a matter  of  convenience, 
and  they  can  put  it  into  their  heads,  their  hearts,  or 
their  pockets,  as  the  case  may  be;  and  then  their 
principle  is  never  found  interfering  with  their  desires 
or  their  interests.  But  something  rich  occurred  there 
this  evening.  As  soon  as  I went  in,  I found  myself 
seated  by  old  Uncle  Peter,  the  identical  old  Irishman 
who  used  to  drive  a dray  for  father,  about  fifteen 
years  ago.  I recollect  him  very  well.  He  is  mighty 
consequential  in  these  days.  He  says  he  is  rich,  and 
I thought  some  accident  of  that  kind  must  have  over- 
taken him,  or  he  would  not  have  been  there ; and  I 
shouldn’t  be  much  surprised  if  .we  were  invited  to  his 
house  to  drink  wine  before  long.  The  old  man  took 
it  upon  himself  to  charge  me  straitly  not  to  be  a min- 
ister-— not  even  to  think  of  it,  and  that  I should  not 
be  too  familiar  with  the  1 old  book,’  as  he  called  it.  I 
have  no  doubt,  Kate,  that  he  would  have  taken  wine 
quick  enough.  I did  not  like  to  hear  that  old  man 
talk  so  lightly  of  that  book.  But  it  is  hard  on  this 
rum  business,  and  those  "who  are  in  favor  with  the 
one  are  but  little  in  favor  with  the  other.  Those 
whose  lives  are  governed  by  the  precepts  of  the  Bible 
are  armed  against  temptation.  The  rumseller’s  angel 
may  offer  them  the  world,  and  they  will  withstand  it. 


THE  CONTRAST  AND  ITS  CAUSE.  109 

To  such  persons,  virtue  may  ever  cling  for  protection. 
They  are  in  no  danger  of  becoming  drunkards.  They 
will  not  leave  widows  to  weep  over  the  graves  of 
drunkard  husbands ; nor  children  who  will  be  asham- 
ed of  their  memory.  Kate,  I should  like  to  see  Dick 
Wilson.  That  portrait  is  himself,  exactly.  I think  it 
very  strange  that  he  has  ceased  to  correspond  with  me 
entirely.  W e were  intimate  friends  at  college,  and  he 
was  a noble  fellow,  too.  I do  not  think  I ever  knew 
such  a generous-hearted  young  man,  and  I should  like 
to  know  how  he  succeeds  with  the  temptations  to  in- 
temperance, which  must  necessarily  have  surrounded 
his  loath.  He  has  had  to  contend  with  misfortune, 
and  it  is  more  the  fault  of  his  parents  than  his  own. 
His  home  education  was  not  what  it  ought  to  have 
been.  His  mother  is  an  excellent  woman,  but  she 
was  so  pressed  by  the  continued  calls  of  fashion,  that 
she  was  robbed  of  those  precious  hours  to  which  her 
children,  before  all  others,  had  a claim — those  hours 
for  which  you,  my  sweet  sister,  and  myself,  can  never 
be  sufficiently  thankful.  My  mind  has  often  been 
puzzled  to  know  if,  after  all,  there  are  not  many  pa- 
rents who  care  but  little  about  their  children.  If  they 
loved  them  as  they  ought  to  love  them,  they  would 
certainly  be  unwilling  to  send  them  out  into  the  world 
without  that  priceless  treasure — home  preparation. 


CHAPTER  YI. 


RUMSELLERS. — CAUSES  AND  CONSEQUENCES. 

“ Whose  mind  can  tell  what  the  heart  must  feel, 

That  is  doomed  to  die  by  the  rumseller’s  steel.” 

If  Dick  Wilson  now  felt,  in  all  its  "bitterness,  the 
dire  results  which  flow  from  intemperance,  he  had  at 
least  been  spared  the  painful  ordeal  through  which 
those  results  are  commonly  attained.  If  his  father  had 
fallen  a victim,  and  his  family  been  beggared,  the  re- 
sult had  come  to  him  quickly,  without  many  of  those 
harrowing  concomitants  which  are  usual  in  such  cases. 
He  had,  in  the  history  of  his  own  misfortunes,  been 
spared  the  cheerless  view  of  the  progress  of  intemper- 
ance. He  had  not  seen,  week  by  week  and  month  by 
month,  the  inroads  which  it  was  slowly  but  surely 
making  into  his  beloved  home,  or  marked  the  progress 
ive  yet  fearful  ravages  it  was  making  upon  him  whose 
name  he  bore.  His  experience  of  the  evils  of  rum- 
bibbing  and  rumselling  had  been  indeed  severe — as 
much,  so  as  he  felt  himself  able  to  endure.  Yet  they 
had  been  too  circumscribed  in  their  range  to  give  him 
a just  view  of  the  aggregate  enormity  of  the  evil,  or 


RUMSELLERS. — CAUSES  AND  CONSEQUENCES.  Ill 

to  impress  liim  with,  just  views  of  its  causes,  or  of  the 
proper  remedies. 

He  thought,  as  many  now  think,  that  these  results 
were  in  certain  cases  unavoidable ; that  it  was  the  des- 
tiny of  some  to  be  victims,  and  that,  though  the  con- 
sequences were  deplorable  in  the  extreme,  still  nothing 
could  be  done  to  prevent  them.  Yet  the  change  in 
his  own  circumstances,  which  had  driven  him  from 
those  plans  which  he  had  intended  to  pursue,  and 
forced  him  to  take  up  his  residence  in  the  village  of 

B , was  rapidly  changing  his  views,  and  showing 

him  clearly  the  dangerous  tendency  of  his  former  opin- 
ions. In  that  village,  he  had  a fine  opportunity  to 
witness  the  various  manoeuvres  of  those  who  were  at- 
tached to  the  rum  interest,  either  by  sympathy  or  by 
being  dependent  upon  it  for  support.  In  a village,  all 
that  is  going  on  is  generally  known  to  its  inhabitants, 
and  there  are  here  no  dark,  secluded  dens,  into  which 
the  rumseller  can  thrust  its  victims,  and  hide  from  the 
public  gaze  the  evidence  of  the  ills  of  the  pernicious 
traffic.  Unfortunately  for  the  village  to  which  Dick 
had  resorted,  while  it  contained  many  excellent  citi- 
zens, it  also  contained  a large  number  of  rumsellers, 
and  many  who  sympathized  with  them  in  their  per- 
nicious employment.  To  the  countenance  and  influ- 
ence of  the  latter,  was  the  rum  interest  indebted  for 
its  profitableness — indeed  for  its  very  existence  here. 
There  were  many  of  them  men  of  wealth,  and  of  good 


112 


DICK  WILSON. 


reputation  among  their  neighbors.  Their  opinions 
were  respected,  and  they  were  among  the  first  in  seek- 
ing political  preferments  and  honors ; and  11  help  me 
and  I will  help  you,”  was  the  maxim  which  governed 
them  in  their  intercourse  with  the  rum  interest.  With 
Judge  L for  a leader,  and  the  crime-polluted  Ste- 

vens for  a companion,  they  were  prepared  to  look 
with  complacency  upon  all  the  ills  and  evils  which  are 
inseparable  from  the  rum  traffic,  and  quiet  their  own 
reflections  with  the  pottage  which  their  votes  and 
favor  might  give.  In  whatever  might  be  attempted 
by  the  friends  of  temperance,  to  diminish  the  sale  and 
use  of  intoxicating  drinks  in  the  village,  these  men 
were  found  strongly  opposed,  and  were  ever  ready 
and  prompt  in  argument  to  maintain  the  constitutional , 
inalienable , and  natural  rights  of  those  who  chose  to 
do  so,  to  sell  rum ; and  whatever  the  consequences 
might  be,  it  was  not  the  fault  of  the  wily  tempter , who 
held  out  the  gilded  lure,  but  of  the  luckless  wight 
who  suffered  himself  to  be  enticed  to  his  ruin. 

Dick  Wilson,  surrounded,  as  he  was,  by  what  to 
him  appeared  a new  existence,  frequently  suffered  his 
thoughts  to  wander  to  his  desolated  home,  and  to  pic- 
ture to  himself  its  sadness.  Unbidden  it  would  rise 
before  him.  A mother  in  rags  and  in  wretchedness, 
lifting  her  streaming  eyes  to  heaven,  invoking  God  to 
send  deliverance ! He  seemed  to  hear  the  faint  scream 
— almost  the  death-shriek  of  the  starving  child,  whose 


RUMSELLERS. — CAUSES  AND  CONSEQUENCES.  113 

soul  and  body  seemed  to  be  engaged  in  rending  the 
ties  by  which  they  were  held  in  their  mysterious 
union,  and  thus  escape  the  cruelties  of  the  destroyer. 
But  Dick’s  image  of  a drunkard’s  home  did  not  de- 
part. 

He  was  just  rising  to  close  the  office,  when  a person 
whom  he  had  frequently  met  in  the  street,  entered. 
For  a moment  he  looked  at  Dick,  and  then  seated  him- 
self. There  was,  to  Dick,  in  the  person  of  this  indi- 
vidual, at  that  moment,  something  surpassingly  amia- 
ble. His  plain  drab  coaty  round-breasted,  according 
to  the  fashion  that  has  passed  away,  his  broad-brimmed 
hat,  his  white  cravat,  with  his  collarless  shirt,  and 
care-worn  yet  calm  expression  of  countenance,  point- 
ed him  out  to  be,  what  Dick  knew  he  was — a Method- 
ist minister,  of  the  old  pioneer  stamp.  After  a few 
common-place  remarks,  the  old  gentleman  said  to 
him, — 

“ Mr.  Wilson,  your  countenance  had  a very  sad  ex- 
pression when  I entered,  and  it  is  not  yet  entirely 
gone.” 

“ Yes,  sir,  I feel  so  at  times.” 

“There  must  have  been  a fearful  picture  in  your 
mind,  Mr.  Wilson,  to  have  left  such  an  expression  on 
your  countenance.” 

“Well,”  said  Dick,  “it  may  surprise  you  a little, 
but  I have  been  trying  all  the  evening  to  put  together, 
in  my  own  mind,  the  picture  of  a drunkard’s  home 
8 


114  - 


DICK  WILSON. 


It  is  a gloomy  subject,  sir, — one  upon  which  peculiar 
circumstances  only  could  compel  me  to  linger  for  a 
moment.  I think  it  appeared  to  my  imagination  even 
more  vivid  than  the  sad  . reality  itself.” 

“Do  you  think  you  have  succeeded,  Mr.  Wilson, 
in  painting  that  most  horrid  and  revolting  picture  ?” 

“ I do,  sir.” 

“ Then  you  have  done  what  our  artists  have  not 
been  able  to  accomplish.  You  have  painted  a drunk- 
ard’s home  ? Oh ! no,  sir,  you  have  not  done  that. 
It  cannot  be  painted  upon  the  earth.  Where  did  you 
put  the  soul  ?” 

“I  was  only  trying  to  paint  an  earthly  picture,” 
said  Dick. 

“Where  did  you  paint  the  rumseller?”  continued 
the  old  man. 

“Nowhere,”  said  Dick,  trying  to  smile.  “I  would 
not  have  his  countenance  on  one  of  my  pictures : it 
would  mar  it.” 

“Yes,  truly  it  would,  Mr.  Wilson.  It  mars  and 
degrades  everything  it  touches.  The  universe  of  God 
is  less  beautiful  and  harmonious  than  it  would  be, 
were  there  no  rumsellers.  They  are  doing  harm 
everywhere ; and  if  the  evening  were  not  so  far  spent, 
I would  paint  the  double  picture  of  a rumseller  and  a 
drunkard’s  home,  as  I have  seen  them  together.  I 

understand,  Mr.  Wilson,  you  are  from  P ,”  said 

the  old  gentleman. 


KUMSELLEKS. — CAUSES  AND  CONSEQUENCES.  115 

“ That  is  my  native  place,”  said  Dick. 

“I  was  once  acquainted  there,”  said  the  old  minis- 
ter, and  then  added — “Do  yon  know  anything  of  a 
gentleman  of  your  name,  who  was  a merchant  there?” 

“ 1 did  know  such  a person,”  said  Dick,  with  an  in- 
voluntary sigh. 

“ Ah  !”  said  the  old  man,  “ I knew  him  well  when 
he  was  a boj^  and  often  have  I seen  him  sporting  on 
the  banks  of  the  Delaware.  Many  a time  have  I en- 
joyed the  hospitality  of  his  father  ; and  although  our 
religious  views  were  different,  yet  they  were  excellent 
people,  and  I spent  many  pleasant  hours  with  them. 
They  passed  away  many  years,  and  from  a brother, 
who  tarried  with  me  last  night,  I learned  that  Mr. 
"Wilson,  their  son,  who  had  established  himself  in 

P as  a merchant,  had  died  at  the  hands  of  the 

rumseller,  and  I was  sorry,  very  sorry,  to  hear  it.” 
“Yes,  sir,”  said  Dick,  “that  was  my  father .” 

The  old  man  started  in  surprise,  and  said : 

“ And  you  are  the  son  of  Richard  Wilson,  and  one 
of  the  heirs  of  his  deep  misfortune  and  disgrace.” 
“Yes,  sir,”  said  Dick,  “ I am,  and  I feel  it  every 
day.” 

“ Wrell,.  young  man,”  he  replied,  “ I am  glad  that  I 
have  found  you  out.  But  you  have  come  to  a very 
bad  place.  Many  a young  man  has  been  ruined,  and 
lost  everything  by  coming  here  ; and  still  rumselling 
is  continued,  and  the  annual  sacrifice  of  health,  life, 


116 


DICK  WILSON-. 


property,  and  the  peace  and  comfort  of  families,  goes 
on  nndiminished.  I have  talked  with  most  of  the 
rnmsellers  here ; but  whatever  they  may  have  been 
when  they  commenced  this  business,  it  soon  blinded 
their  eyes,  and  hardened  their  hearts,  so  that  they 
could  neither  see  nor  feel  the  mischief  they  were 
doing.  I have  gone  into  a bar-room,  when  it  was 
filled  to  overflowing  with  men  who  were  merry  over 
the  maddening  bowl,  and  when  women  and  children 
were  trying  to  tear  away  husbands  and  fathers  from 
this  vortex  of  ruin,  and  then  I have  remonstrated 
with  the  rumseller,  and  his  only  reply  was — ‘I  violate 
no  law,  and  if  I should  stop,  others  would  continue 
the  same  business.’  I have  asked  them  if  God  would 
be  satisfied  with  this  answer,  and  I was  once  answer- 
ed, by  a poor  fellow  who  has  since  gone  to  his  ac- 
count— and  miserably  too — ‘ It  will  be  some  time  be- 
fore I am  called  upon  to  settle  that  account.7  You  will 
have  to  move  here  with  great  caution,  Mr.  Wilson,  or 
you  will  regret  your  coming  to  this  place.77 

The  old  gentleman  said  that  it  was  past  nine  o’clock, 
and  was  making  a motion  to  depart,  when  Dick  said 
to  him : 

“If  it  is  not  too  late  for  you  to  do  so,  I should  be 
very  glad  to  hear  from  you  your  history  of  a rumsel- 
ler and  of  a drunkard’s  home.  I am  here  in  the 
midst  of  them,  and  anything  that  will  tend  to  increase 
my  fear  of  these  men,  will  be  of  service  to  me.” 


RUMSELLERS. — CAUSES  AND  CONSEQUENCES.  117 

The  old  gentleman  was  on  his  feet,  ready  to  leave, 
bnt  as  Dick  concluded,  he  seated  himself ; and  without 
promising  to  do  so,  he  seemed  for  a moment  to  give 
himself  up  to  reflection.  Dick  was  watching  and  ad- 
miring the  calm,  dispassionate  movement  of  every 
muscle  in  his  face,  when  the  old  gentleman  broke  the 
silence,  and  commenced  by  saying — • 

“ Mr.  Wilson,  fifteen  years  ago  I was  located  in  this 
place.  It  was  then  just  about  what  it  is  now.  So 
far  as  the  improvement  of  the  village  is  concerned, 
there  are  more  religious  people  here  now  than  there 
was  at  that  time.  I became  acquainted  with  a young 
man,  in  the  prime  and  vigor  of  life.  He  was  not 
what  may  be  called  rich,  yet  his  circumstances  were 
very  comfortable,  and  his  prospects  were  exceedingly 
fair.  I became  very  much  attached  to  him,  and  I had 
every  reason  to  think  that  it  was  fully  reciprocated. 
During  the  early  part  of  my  first  year  in  this  place,  I 
was  called  on  to  perform  the  marriage  ceremony  for 
him,  which  I did.  His  father  died  soon  after,  and  left 
him  a very  handsome  property,  two  miles  from  this 
place,  and  every  one  who  knew  him  said  that  he 
would  do  well.  I spent  two  years  here,  in  an  almost 
continual  state  of  warfare  with  the  rumsellers,  who 
were  so  intent  on  breaking  up  everything  which  might 
exert  a restraining  influence  upon  their  trade,  that 
they  would  employ  boys  to  run  horses  by  the  door  of 
the  church  on  Sabbath  days.  This  has  often  been 


118 


DICK  WILSON. 


done  by  them.  At  the  end  of  two  years  I was  re- 
moved to  another  field,  but  subsequently  returned 
here.  When  I came  back  I saw  nothing  of  George 
Handy,  and  thought  it  strange  that  he  did  not  come 
to  see  me.  A few  days  after  my  return,  in  conversa- 
tion with  a gentleman,  I expressed  my  surprise  that 
I had  seen  nothing  of  George,  as  he  was  familiarly 
called. 

“ ‘ Ah,’  said  the  gentleman,  ‘poor  George  is  ruined! 
Our  rumsellers  have  overcome  him ; and  Smith,  at 
the  Corner,  has  a mortgage  of  his  whole  property.’ 

“ 4 How  is  this?’  I quickly  inquired.  4 George  Handy 
mined  already ! How  does  it  come  ?’ 

44 ‘ God  only  knows,’  he  replied  ; ‘the  people  here 
can’t  understand  it.  But  then,  it  is  true.  It  does  not 
astonish  me  much ; for  our  rumsellers,  with  Judge 
L to  aid  them,  have  done  many  similar  deeds.’ 

“One  day,  soqn  after  this  conversation,  I was  walk- 
ing along  the  street,  and  happened  to  see  George,  just 
entering  Smith’s  bar-room.  I immediately  followed 
him,  and  heard  Smith  say,  ‘ If  you  have  no  money, 
you  can’t  have  a drop  of  whiskey  ! If  you  have  any- 
thing about  your  house  that  I can  use,  I will  exchange 
you  whiskey  for  it.’ 

“ ‘ You  have  all  my  property  already  !’  said  Handy. 

“ ‘ You  have  had  pay  for  it,’  said  Smith. 

“ ‘ In  what  ?’  inquired  George. 

“ ‘ That  is  no  matter,  Handy,’  replied  Smith,  in  an 


RUMSELLERS  — CAUSES  AND  CONSEQUENCES.  119 

angry  manner ; 4 1 have  the  mortgage,  and  that  is  the 
evidence  that  you  have  received  value  for  it.’ 

“ 4 Do  give  me  something  to  drink,  Mr.  Smith,’  said 
George.  * 

11 1 Not  a drop  without  the  money,  and  for  that  you 
can  have  just  as  much  as  you  want.’ 

“ George,’  said  I,  1 come  with  me,’  and  he  started  in 
a moment.  I suppose  he  knew  my  voice,  and  as  soon 
as  he  saw  me,  he  walked  up  to  me,  saying, — 

“‘Mr.  Shepard,  this  is  not  George  Handy ! — George 
Handy  has  been  in  the  grave  nearly  a year.  Oh  no, 
sir,  this  ain’t  the  image  that  God  made  ! This  ain’t 
the  young  man  over  whom,  and  his  smiling  bride,  you 
exercised  such  tender  care  ! This,’  said  he,  trying  to 
straighten  himself,  ‘ is  a poor,  miserable  thing,  which 
the  rumsellers  here  have  made,  and  this  is  the  place 
of  my  ruin.’ 

11  ‘None  of  your  lying  here,  George,’  said  Smith. 

“‘I  am  not  lying,’  said  George  ; 1 you  know  what 
you  have  done,  and.  God  and  my  poor  wife  'know 
what  you  have  done.” 

“I  asked  him  how  his  wife  was,  and  where  she 
was. 

“ 1 Her  health  is  very  poor,’  said  he,  1 and  it  will 
never  be  better.  She  is  yet  in  our  old  house,  but  God 
only  knows  how  soon  this  man  will  drive  us  out  of  it, 
and  then  if  death,  which  would  be  a mercy  to  both 
of  us,  and  to  our  little  girl,  does  not  come,  I don’t 


120 


DICK  WILSON. 


know  what  will  become  of  ns.  The  thought  of  the 
poor-house  makes  me  shudder.’ 

“ I asked  him  to  go  home  with  me,  and  he  refused 
to  do  so,  saying,  ‘ I cannot  see  Mrs.  Shepard,  and  I 
tried  to  keep  out  of  your  way.’ 

“ I saw  that  Smith  was  very  angry,  but  he  did  not 
wish  to  commence  an  encounter,  in  which  he  feared 
he  might  be  worsted.  I was  well  satisfied  that  he 
hated  me  as  perfectly  as  I despised  his  wickedness,  and 
I was  quite  sure  that  he  had  robbed  George,  in  a way 
which  was  more  dishonorable  than  the  direct  theft 'of 
his  estate  would  have  been.  I told  George  that  he 
had  better  leave  with  me.  He  came  to  the  door,  and 
then  stopped,  saying, — 

“‘You  won’t  ask  me  to  go  home  with  you,  Mr. 
Shepard  ?’ 

“ I told  him  that  I should  be  glad  to  have  him  go, 
but  that  I would  not  insist,  if  he  did  not  wish  to  go. 
I parted  with  him  then  ; and,  without  telling  him,  I 
had  made  up  my  mind  to  ride  up  to  his  house  in  the 
morning,  and  see  if  the  ruin  could  in  any  way  be  re- 
paired. From  what  I saw  of  George,  I feared  that  it 
was  hopeless.  He  said  he  was  in  the  grave,  and  I 
thought  it  was  true  ; and  only  the  Power  that  raised 
Lazarus  could  raise  him  again. 

“ As  soon  as  I entered  his  house  the  next  morning, 
my  heart  was  chilled.  There  sat  his  wife,  wrapt  in 
the  pale,  quiet  melancholy  of  a broken  heart.  My 


RUMSELLERS.— CAUSES  AND  CONSEQUENCES.  121 

entrance  was  to  all  appearance  unnoticed,  and  yet 
she  was  looking  me  full  in  the  face.  At  length  she 
said, — • 

4i  4 Mr.  Shepard,  I am  glad  to  see  you.  Do  not  be 
frightened ; all  that  you  see  is  a reality — there  is  no 
mockery  about  it.  Poor  George  has  been  crushed  to 
pieces  under  the  iron  hoof  of  the  rumseller,  and  every- 
thing is  gone.  Oh ! if  I only  knew  that  sweet  child 
was  provided  for, ’.said  she,  pointing  to  a little  girl,  a 
little  more  than  two  years  of  age,  L I should  die  in 
peace.’ 

“I  asked  where  George  was,  and  told  her  that  I 
would  be  glad  to  see  him. 

“ 1 I can’t  tell,’  said  she  ; 4 perhaps  the  poor  fellow 
saw  you  coming,  and  if  he  did,  he  will  not  come  in 
until  you  are  gone.’ 

44  I asked  her  if  I should  read  a portion  of  Scrip- 
ture, and  pray  with  her,  to  which  she  assented ; and 
after  which  I took  my  leave,  with  feelings  such  as  I 
never  experienced  before.  For  several  days  after  this 
I was  confined  to  the  house  by  indisposition ; and 
during  this  time  I found  it  almost  impossible  to  think 
of  anything  but  poor  George  and  his  wife.  About 
the  middle  of  the  third  day,  the  sheriff  called  on  me, 
and  informed  me  that  George  Handy  wished  to  see 
me.  I was  startled  at  this  announcement,  coming 
from  the  sheriff,  and  immediately  inquired  where  I 
could  find  him. 

F 


122 


DICK  WILSON. 


“‘In  prison,  sir,’  was  the  reply,  ‘and  his  heart  is 
almost  -broken.’ 

“ ‘ For  what?’  I inquired. 

“ ‘Well,  sir,  I believe  it  is  a matter  of  debt.  Smith, 
the  rumseller,  has  worked  himself  into  George’s  fine 
property,  and  no  one  believes  that  he  did  it  honestly ; 
and  this  does  not  appear  to  satisfy  him.’ 

“ ‘ Do  you  know  how  much  his  claim  against  George 
is  ? — I mean  the  claim  for  which  he  has  been  impris- 
oned.’ 

“ ‘ I believe  it  is  about  two  dollars.  Smith  says  he 
can  afford  to  pay  his  board,  and  that  he  intends  to 
keep  him  there  until  he  gets  to  be  an  honest  man  !’ 
“‘Has  George  no  friends  here,’  I inquired,  ‘who 
would  do  this  much  for  him  ?’ 

“ ‘I  think,  sir,’  said  the  sheriff,  ‘ that  but  very  few 
know  it ; and  I do  not  think  Smith  wishes  it  to  be 
known.’ 

“ I rose,  and  taking  from  my  drawer  the  money, 
which  I could  but  poorly  afford  to  spare,  and  most  of 
all  to  a rumseller — hastened  to  the  prison,  and  was  at 
once  conducted  into  the  part  where  George  was  con- 
fined. He  rose  to  meet  me,  saying, 

“ ‘ Mr.  Shepard,  you  never  expected  to  meet  me  in 
a prison,  where  none  but  felons  should  ever  be  con- 
fined.’ 

a I told  him  at  once  that  he  must  come  out,  and 
that  I had  come  to  take  him  out. 


RUMSELLERS. — CAUSES  AND  CONSEQUENCES.  123 

“ 1 Oh,  no,  Mr.  Shepard !’  said  he,  ‘ yon  cannot  afford 
to  pay  the  claims  of  rumsellers  against  me.  I would 
rather  remain  here,  for  my  poor  wife  is  dying  at  home 
with  a broken  heart,  and  I cannot  endure  the  sight.’ 
u I took  him  by  the  hand,  and  told  him  that  he 
must  come  with  me  ; that  the  scoundrel  who  had  rob- 
bed him  of  his  property,  his  health,  and  the  peace 
and  happiness  of  his  family,  should  not  now,  for  the 
mere  sum  of  two  dollars , be  permitted  to  degrade  him 
farther.  I walked  home  with  him,  and  as  soon  as  we 
entered,  he  said : 

“ 1 Well,  Mary,  the  cup  is  nearly  full.  I have  been 
two  nights  in  the  county  prison,  on  a rumseller’s 
claim.’ 

“ She  leaped  from  her  seat  when  the  arrow,  for 
which  she  seemed  to  be  waiting,  pierced  her  heart, 
and  throwing  her  arms  about  his  neck,  exclaimed : 

“ ‘Poor  George  ! poor  George  ! — it  is  all  over.’ 

“ Reason  had,  in  the  keen  agony  of  that  moment, 
sought  a shelter  in  the  gloomy  night  of  insanity,  from 
which  she  never  recovered.  She  is  sleeping  in  the 
church-yard.  George — and  you  have  seen  him  often 
in  the  street — is  also  the  victim  of  insanity,  and  an 
inmate  of  the  poor-house  ; and  their  little  daughter  I 
brought  home  myself,  and  she  is  with  us  yet — a beau- 
tiful and  lovely  girl.  Mr.  Smith,  the  rumseller,  has 
had  his  triumph.  God’s  justice  will  yet  have  its 
triumph  I” 


CHAPTEK  VII. 


PRACTICAL  SYMPATHY. — DIFFERENCE  IN  CHARACTER. 

“True  dignity  is  hers,  whose  tranquil  mind 
Virtue  has  raised  above  the  things  below ; 

Who,  every  hope  and  fear  to  Heaven  resigned, 

Shrinks  not,  though  fortune  aim  her  deadliest  blow.” 

There  is  no  other  desolation  which,  for  the  gloom 
and  cheerlessness  by  which  it  is  pervaded,  can  com- 
pare with  that  which  the  rumseller  can  make.  He, 
more  than  any  other  agency,  distributes,  with  a wanton 
liberality,  the  bitterest  curses  which  can  be  mingled 
with  the  cup  of  human  life,  and  before  which  its  rich- 
est hopes  and  tenderest  associations  are  crushed. 

Some  time  had  elapsed  since  Dick  Wilson,  to  his 
little  but  beloved  household,  had  said  good-bye ; and 
to  persons  feeling,  as  they  did,  the  effect  of  the  dire 
consequences  which  the  rum  traffic  had  gathered 
around  them,  there  was  nothing  to  give  wings  to  time. 
So  far  as  the  consolations  of  this  world  were  concern- 
ed, it  was  sadness  and  loneliness  when  he  left,  and  ex- 
cepting the  kindness  of  a very  few,  it  was  sadness  and 
loneliness  still. 

During  the  afternoon,  little  Harry  had  been  scam- 


DIFFERENCE  IN  CHARACTER. 


125 


pering  about  with  more  apparent  pleasure  than  he  had 
felt  since  they  entered  that  house ; and  like  children 
of  his  age,  his  conversation,  which  was  rambling,  em- 
braced many  things  which  touched  Mrs.  Wilson  and 
her  daughter  to  the  heart.  Often  they  would  respond 
to  his  childish  simplicity  with  the  “ deep-fetched”  sigh 
and  an  apparent  smile,  when  it  would  have  been  more 
in  consonance  with  their  hearts  to  have  answered  with 
a tear. 

Now,  this  child  of  misfortune  was  sleeping,  and  his 
little  sorrows,  if  his  tender  heart  knew  any,  were 
sleeping  wuth  him.  Mrs.  Wilson  was  reverently  en- 
gaged in  reading,  as  for  several  months  she  had  been 
accustomed  to  do,  at  stated  intervals,  from  the  word 
of  God ; and  Eliza  was  sitting  by  her  side,  with  her 
cheek  pressed  close  to  her  mother’s.  When  Mrs. 
Wilson  had  finished,  she  said  to  Eliza  : 

“ My  child,  God  is  closing  the  history  of  another 
day,  and  oh,  what  heart-burnings  have  this  day  as- 
cended up,  to  claim  a record,  which  shall  await  the 
judgment  of  the  great  day.” 

“ Yes,  my  dear  mother,”  said  Eliza,  as  she  approach- 
ed the  little  window  where,  perhaps,  from  other  hearts, 
many  a bitter  sigh  had  been  breathed  into  the  ear  of 
God — “yes,  my  dear  mother,  the  draymen  who  live 
on  this  street  are  beginning  to  return  from  the  toils  of 
the  day,  to  spend  their  hours  of  rest  in  the  society  of 
their  poor  families.  Mother,  we  know  something 


126 


DICK  WILSOJST. 


about  tbe  joys  of  home — its  pleasures,  its  holiness,  its 
love.  Oh,  mother  ! if  God  shall  judge  the  rumseller 
and  his  friends  according  to  their  criminality — accord- 
ing to  the  wrongs  and  the  outrages  which  they  are 
daily  committing — how  withering  will  that  judgment 
be ! How  sweetly  little  Harry  sleeps.  He  does  not 
appear  to  have  any  realization  of  trouble.  See  how 
sweetly  he  smiles  ; nothing  disturbs  his  calm,  dreamy 
life.  His  little  lips  move  and  quiver,  as  if  angels — 
the  spirits  of  little  children,  young  and  lovely  as  him- 
self— had  come  down  to  bear  him  company.  I won- 
der if  he  has  any  idea  of  his  present  situation,  or  of 
what  he  has  lost ! I hope  he  ha,s  not.  Don’t  you 
think,  mother,  he  looks  like  father  and  Dick  very 
much  ?” 

“ Yes,  my  child,  I do.  I never  look  at  him  with- 
out seeing  the  image  of  your  father.  Have  you  any 
idea,  my  child,  who  it  was  that  purchased  your  father’s 
and  my  portrait,  at  the  sale  of  our  property?” 

“ No,  mother,”  replied  Eliza,  “I  have  not.  When 
those  precious  things  were  brought  out,  and  handed 
to  the  auctioneer,  Dick  and  myself  left  the  window : 
we  could  not  look  on,  while  the  images  of  those  dear 
to  us  were  being  disposed  of  in  that  manner.” 

u Well,  my  child  I do  think  that  was  cruel.  I care 
nothing  for  my  own,  only  for  the  sake  of  you  and 
your  brother  ; but  your  father’s  portrait  I would  like 
to  have  kept,  and  one  would  think  that  respect  for 


DIFFERENCE  IN  CHARACTER.  127 

the  dead  would  have  deterred  any  one  from  attempt- 
ing to  remove  it.  I have  no  doubt,  that  at  this  mo- 
ment they  may  be  gracing  the  parlor  of  some  one  ‘of 
those  rumsellers  who  have  ruined  us.  If  any  respect- 
able person  had  purchased  them,  Mrs.  Livingston 
would  have  known  it.” 

“ My  dear  mother  don’t  let  this  grieve  you.  I hope 
poor  Dick  will  soon  be  able  to  find  them,  and  purchase 
them  back  for  us.  "We  are  wounded  deep  enough  al- 
ready, without  permitting  these  precious  mementos  of 
the  living  and  the  dead,  to  grace  such  a place  as  that.” 

“ Eliza,”  said  Mrs,  "Wilson,  “ you  must  write  to  Dick 
to-morrow.  Cheer  him  up  as  much  as  possible.  Tell 
him,  when  you  write,  that  the  old  minister  comes 
often,  and  that  his  conversation  is  just  what  we  need. 
Tell  him  that  Mrs.  Livingston  and  Mrs.  Eagleson  are 
remarkably  kind  and  attentive  to  us.  And  don’t  for- 
get to  tell  him  that  little  Harry  talks  much  about  him. 
These  things,  my  child,  will  encourage  him  very 
much.  They  will  tend  to  strengthen  him  against 
temptation,  and  this  is  necessary ; for  his  path  is  filled 
with  peril,  and  the  cheerless  inheritance  of  a drunk- 
ard’s son  will  cling  with  great  power  to  his  heart,  but 
not  to  strengthen  it.  Now  my  child,  let  us  note  down 
every  pleasure  we  may  feel,  and  then,  at  the  begin- 
ing  of  every  week,  transmit  it  all  to  him,  and  it  will 
do  him  good,  and  make  him  feel  happier.” 

“Yes,  mother,”  replied  Eliza,  “if  Dick  thinks  we 


128 


DICK  WILSOIST. 


are  happy,  lie  will  be  happy  too.  I always  write  to 
him  in  a cheerful  manner,  and  somehow  or  other, 
Providence  has  given  me  some  pleasant  thing  to  tell 
him  every  time  I have  written  yet,  so  that  I have  al- 
most become  selfish  in  this  respect,  and  am  looking 
for  a continuance  of  the  same  kindness.” 

“Well,  my  child,”  replied  Mrs.  Wilson,  “ if  you 
look  in  a right  spirit,  there  is  no  selfishness  about  it ; 
but  it  is  the  evidence  of  faith  in  those  precious  prom- 
ises to  which,  for  consolation  at  this  moment,  we  are 
deeply  indebted.  L Ask  and  ye  shall  receive.’  How 
comprehensive  that  invitation.  It  is  just  what  we 
need,  and  what  poor  Dick  needs  as  much  as  we  do.” 

“Mother,”  said  Eliza,  “has  it  occurred  to  you, 
since  our  misfortunes,  how  very  easy  it  is  to  be  deceiv- 
ed in  persons?” 

“Yes,”  said  Mrs.  Wilson;  “I  could  hardly,  in  our 
situation,  be  insensible  to  such  reflections.  But  why 
have  .you  asked  that  question  ?” 

“Well,  mother,  my  mind  has  been  running  back. 
I am  afraid,  after  all,  it  is  more  prone  to  go  backward 
than  forward ; but  I will  try  to  subdue  this  disposi- 
tion, except  when  I want  to  hold  communion  with 
dear  Ellen.  I have  been  thinking  of  times  past,  and 
the  changes  which  have  taken  place.  There  was  a 
time  in  our  history,  when  the  slightest  indisposition 
in  our  family  would  have  called  to  our  door  those 
who,  under  no  imaginable  circumstances,  would  come 


DIFFERENCE  IN  CHARACTER.  129 

now.  This,  I think,  is  what  we  have  learned, — that 
it  is  not  what  people  wear,  nor  the  society  in  which 
they  move,  that  gives  the  true  index  to  their  charac- 
ters. There  is  Mrs.  Livingston  and  Mrs/  Walston — 
they  are  both  very  wealthy.  Now,  mother,  look  at 
Mrs.  Walston  ; I do  not  think  you  can  remember  two 
days  together,  for  several  years,  when  she  has  not 
been  at  our  house.  Many  an  hour,  mother,  have  I 
listened  to  her,  while  she  was  trying  to  flatter  you  in 
every  possible  way.  At  one  time  she  would  speak  in 
raptures  of  father — his  wealth — his  fine  disposition — 
his  'brilliant  prospects,  and  so  on.  Then,  she  would 
tell  you  what  a fine  boy  master  Dick  was ; and  then 
she  would  turn  to  poor  Ellen  and  myself ; and  that 
dear  little  fellow  lying  there  in  the  cradle,  has  not  es- 
caped her  flattery ; for  she  has  said  of  him  that  he 
was  the  sweetest  of  all  your  children.  Don’t  you 
think,  mother,  that  he  is  just  as  lovely  this  evening 
as  he  ever  was?” 

u Oh  yes  ! my  dear,  surely  I do.” 

“And  so  do  I,  mother;  but  Mrs.  Walston  don’t 
think  so.  He  is  now  the  heir  of  poverty,  and  with 
her  my  dear  little  brother’s  loveliness  is  gone ! Mrs. 
Walston,  mother,  you  know,  was  always  dressed  in 
the  height  of  the  fashion.  No  one  could  recollect  to 
have  seen  her  when  she  was  not.  Her  great  business 
was  to  see  what  was  to  be  seen,  and  hear  what  was  to 
be  heard.  She  had  always  use  in  this  way  for  her 
F*  9 


130 


DICK  WILSON. 


eyes  and  her  ears.  She  was  never  known  to  be  in  the 
nursery  with  her  children  when  she  was  able  to  be  out 
of  it : all  this  business  was  intrusted  to  her  ignorant 
domestics.  'Yourself  and  Mrs.  Walston,  mother,  used 
to  call  me  a little  girl,  but  that  little  girl  had  her  little 
thoughts,  and  those  little  noiseless  things  said  that  it 
was  cruel — that  she  ought  not  to  do  so  ; and  that  mo- 
thers who  were  faithless  to  their  children  could  not  be 
expected  to  be  very  faithful  to  out-door  friends,  only 
as  circumstances^dictated.  We  have  not  seen  her 
since  our  affliction ; and  I apprehend  we  will  never 
see  her  in  this  house.  We  may  chance  to  meet  her 
in  the  street,  but  I hope  we  shall  not,  for  I am  sure 
that  she  does  not  want  to  see  us.  If  she  did,  she  could 
easily  find  us.  Now,  mother,  there  is  Mrs.  Livingston, 
who  is  very  wealthy.  She  never  knew  what  it  was 
to  want  a single  thing  that  money  could  purchase,  and 
she  can  be  fashionable  too.  Indeed,  in  every  respect, 
she  can  throw  Mrs.  Walston  into  the  shade.  But 
then,  Mrs.  Livingston  does  not  permit  these  things  to 
take  the  place  of  her  family  in  her  affections.  She 
has  been  often  at  our  house  ; and  yet  she  has  hardly 
been  there  once  for  Mrs.  Walston’s  twenty  times . But 
when  she  did  come,  her  demeanor  was  always  digni- 
fied and  pleasing,  even  to  children.  There  was  no- 
thing about  her  to  make  children  dislike  her  coming, 
and  if  she  chose  to  caress  them,  as  she  often  did,  she 
did  not  appear,  like  Mrs.  Walston,  as  if  she  was  afraid 


DIFFERENCE  IN  CHARACTER.  131 

that  her  fine  things  would  get  soiled.  This  could  not 
very  well  have  been  avoided  at  Mrs.  W^ fs  house  ; and 
she  seemed  to  think  the  same  kind  of  house-keeping 
prevailed  everywhere.  Misjudging,  mother,  is  part 
of  our  experience,  and  a thrilling  part  of  it  too  ; and 
to  me  it  is  a matter  of  astonishment  how,  under  any 
circumstances,  we  could  have  preferred  Mrs.  W alston 
to  Mrs.  Livingston.  When  Mrs.  Livingston  came  to 
our  house,  she  had  always  about  her  a mark  of  true, 
genuine  affection,  and  she  professed  to  be  a Christian 
of  more  than  mere  fashionable  style,  and  I presume  no 
one  ever  doubted  her  sincerity.  I think  that  there 
are  places  and  circumstances  in  which  religion  shines 
with  more  lustre  than  it  does  in  the  large  congrega- 
tion ; and  one  place  is  the  nursery,  when  a mother, 
with  a heart  full  of  intelligent,  burning  love,  conse- 
crates herself  to  her  children.  When  Frank  Hamil- 
ton was  spending  a vacation  once  with  Dick,  he  told 
us  what  his  mother  was  in  the  habit  of  doing.  He 
said  that  she  spent  an  hour  daily  with  them  in  the 
nursery,  and  that  nothing  would  tempt  her  to  neglect 
it ; and  surely  this  is  a precious  retirement  for  both 
mother  and  children ; but  of  these  hours,  mother,  you 
were  robbed  by  the  tyranny  of  a morbid  fashion, 
which  has  mingled  itself  with  the  rumseller’s  doings. 
For  this,  Mrs.  Livingston  was  remarkable  ; and  wher- 
ever her  children  are  seen,  they  carry  with  them  their 
mother’s  likeness  in  their  faces,  and  her  goodness  in 


132 


DICK  WILSON. 


their  actions.  This  was  Mrs.  Livingston’s  character  in 
the  time  of  our  affluence ; and  now,  in  our  adversity, 
she  is,  if  possible,  still  more  kind.  Ah,  how  we  were 
deceived ! The  one  lit  up  the  morning  of  prosperity 
with  a false  light ; but  the  other — and  she  the  nobler 
one — has  brought  peace  to  the  evening-time  of  adver- 
sity ; and  how  kind  she  is  to  those,  of  whom  poor 
Dick  said,  they  would  be  called  ‘ the  drunkard’s 
family !’ ** 

“ Eliza,”  said  Mrs.  "Wilson,  “ is  not  that  Mrs.  Liv- 
ingston crossing  the  street  just  now  ?” 

“Yes,  surely  it  is,  mother,  and  she  is  coming  here. 
What  can  have  brought  her  out  at  this  late  hour? 
Why,  it’s  almost  dark !” 

“ Go  to  the  door,  quick,  Eliza,  and  let  her  see  that 
we  love  her,  for  indeed  she  is  a lovely  woman.” 

Eliza  had  the  door  open  in  a moment,  and  Mrs. 
Livingston  drew  near,  with  a pleasant  smile,  saying, — 
“ Good  evening,  my  dear  child.” 

Ah.  that  does  not  grate  so  roughly — it  does  not  tear 
so  unmercifully' — it  does  not  wound  every  nerve  and 
fibre  of  the  spirit,  as  does  the  harsh , ungentlemanly, 
and  unlady-like  expression,  ‘ The  drunkard’s  family,  or 
the  drunkard’s  son  or  daughter.’ 

Both  were  at  the  door  to  meet  Mrs.  Livingston,  and 
as  she  entered  she  imprinted  a speaking,  eloquent  kiss 
upon  the  cheek  of  each,  and  then,  walking  directly  to 
the  cradle,  she  looked  for  a moment  into  the  little 


DIFFERENCE  IN  CHARACTER.  133 

sleeping  face  of  Harry,  and  with,  her  kiss  she  left  a 
tear  upon  the  little  fellow’s  cheek,  the  sparkle  of  which 
seemed  to  say,  “ My  poor  child,  your  lot  is  the  hard- 
est!” * 

“Mrs.  Wilson,”  said  Mrs.  Livingston,  “this  makes 
my  heart  sick.  I can  hardly  convince  myself  that 
yonr  situation  is  a reality  ; and  yet,  it  is  too  fearfully 
plain  to  be  a dream.  But  tell  me  if  there  is  anything 
I can  do  for  you, — and  I hope  you  will  be  candid. 
Throw  off  all  delicacy  about  these  matters,  for  your 
change  is  so  severe,  I think  it  would  be  wrong  in  you 
to  wrong  yourself  by  refusing  to  make  known  your 
wants.  I assure  you,  Mrs.  Wilson,  a reverse  of  for- 
tune has  not  lessened  my  respect  for  you ; and  any- 
thing I or  mine  can  do,  will  be  cheerfully  done.  Do 
tell  me  all,  and  I will  try  to  sympathize  with  you,  as 
I ought  to  do.” 

“My  dear  Mrs.  Livingston,”  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  “you 
are  too  kind,  too  generous  already.  We  are  deeply 
in  your  debt.  In  such  circumstances  as  ours,  the 

voice  of  human  kindness  is  sweet  indeed ; and  I thank 

( 

you,  my  hitherto  unprized  friend,  for  the  generous 
kindness  and  tender  sympathy  with  which  you  have 
visited  us.  You  have  preserved  your  affections  amidst 
those  disastrous  circumstances  in  which  others  have 
lost  them,  and  of  which  loss  they  seem  to  be  insensi- 
ble. But,  we  are  not  entirely  destitute  ; and  I think, 
by  proper  management,  we  will  be  able  to  get  along 


134 


DICK  WILSON. 


until  Dick  is  admitted  to  the  bar  ; and  then,  I hope, 
our  situation  will  be  more  comfortable.  That  poor 
boy,  Mrs.  Livingston,  is  our  only  earthly  dependence 
now ; and  I do  most  fervently  hope  that  he  may  be 
spared  to  us.  It  is  a great  pleasure  to  us  to  receive 
his  letters,  for  he  tries  in  every  imaginable  way  to 
make  us  feel  happy.  But  I am  sure,  although  he  is 
not  a child,  that  his  heart  many  times  is  sad — that  he 
will  often  weep  himself  to  sleep  in  thinking  of  us. 
Little  Harry  is  now  our  great  comfort.  He  has  been 
unusually  happy  and  cheerful  this  afternoon,  and  went 
to  sleep  earlier  than  usual.  I think,  Mrs.  Livingston, 
that  there  are  for  us  some  wise  and  precious  lessons 
in  these  afflictions,  and  particularly  so  far  as  my  chil- 
dren and  their  best  interests  are  concerned ; and  if  I 
am  spared,  I will  try  to  lay  unsparingly  in  their 
minds,  the  foundation  of  a good  and  useful  life.” 

“I  hope,  indeed,”  replied  Mrs.  Livingston,  “that 
you  will  do  this  unsparingly.  The  training  of  our 
children,  Mrs.  Wilson,  as  mothers,  responsible  to  God, 
in  a fearful  sense,  is,  after  all,  the  great  consideration; 
and  here,  I apprehend,  is  the  cause  in  which  thousands 
of  both  sexes  find  their  ruin,  and  entail  a fearful  re- 
sponsibility upon  unfaithful  parents.  It  was  the  rum- 
seller,  Mrs.  Wilson,  who  brought  this  heavy  affliction 
to  your  family ; and  while  God,  of  his  mercy,  may 
overrule  it  for  your  good,  can  he  suffer  the  cruel 
cause  of  all  this  to  prosper  ? Will  the  rumseller  be 


DIFFERENCE  IN  CHARACTER. 


135 


permitted  to  go  forward  in  his  desolating  work,  slowly 
but  surely  infusing  his  deadly  poison  into  the  heart’s 
blood  of  the  community,  and  prostrating  to  the  earth 
his  myriads  of  husbands,  fathers,  sons  ? No,  no ! this 
cannot  be.  I tremble  even  for  him,  when  I reflect 
that  God  is  just,  and  that  his  justice  cannot  sleep  for- 
ever. He  has  thrown  a blight  upon  yourself  and 
your  precious  children — can  he  and  his  escape  ? If 
there  is  an  object  of  pity  upon  the  earth,  it  is  the  child 
whom  a callous-hearted  rumseller  calls  his  own.  To 
be  a drunkard’s  son,  is  an  inheritance  * which  is  only 
rich  in  the  thick  gloom  of  its  insufferable  cruelty. 
But  to  be  a rumseller’s  son,  and  wear  the  impressions 
of  that  business ; to  be  assured  that  one  is  eating  the 
bread  and  wearing  the  clothes  which,  in  justice,  be- 
long to  those  who  are  starving,  and  who  are  in  rags ! 
To  be  conscious  that  the  very  things  which  are  mak- 
ing their  hearts  glad,  are  making  other  hearts  sorrow- 
ful ! To  be  conscious  that  these  things,  covetously 
torn  from  others,  are  the  price  of  peace,  happiness  and 
life  in  other  homes  ! — homes  which  vrere  once  lit  up 
by  love ! Yes,  my  dear  Mrs.  Wilson,  the  rumseller 
has  cursed  you  with  all  his  fury ! But  will  he  enjoy 
his  ill-gotten  gain  ? I think  not.  Mrs.  Wilson,  do 
many  of  your  former  friends  call  on  you  ?” 

u Oh  no;  yourself  and  Mrs.  Eagleson,  and  our  old 
minister,  are  the  only  ones  who  have  called.” 

“ Is  it  possible  ?” 


136 


DICK  WILSON. 


“ Yes,  Mrs.  Livingston,  only  three  have  outlived 
the  storm,  as  yet : they  are  all  who  have  come  to 
see  us.” 

“ I feared  that  this  was  the  case  ; but  let  them  go. 
I have  no  doubt  this  has  disappointed  you  severely. 
Let  them  go,  for  in  their  going  you  lose  nothing3 
These  persons  have  lost  more  than  you  have,  and 
when  they  meet  you  by  accident,  a sense  of  personal 
inferiority  will  wring  from  them  the  acknowledgment 
in  the  truth-telling  blush.  This  is  one  of  those  revo- 
lutions in  which,  with  what  they  have  lost  already,  it 
is  almost  impossible  for  self-respect  to  survive.  Some 
of  these  persons  may  live  to  hear  the  stern  rappings 
of  adversity  at  their  own  doors.  They  may  live  to 
see  it  entering  and  laying  its  rude  hands  upon  the 
domestic  and  social  relations,  upon  which  they  are 
now  staying  themselves  ; and  if  such  should  be  their 
fortune,  I hope  they  will  find  that  God  is  more  mer- 
ciful than  they  are.  With  some  of  those  amongst 
your  former  acquaintances,  there  is  at  this  moment  a 
much  more  certain  prospect  of  such  a calamity  than 
you  had  a year  since.  I do  sincerely  hope  it  may  not 
come  to  them ; but  they  certainly  seem  to  be  rapidly 
drifting  to  the  same  dark  port.  Have  you  been  out 
any  yet,  Mrs.  Wilson  ?” 

“ I have  scarcely  crossed  the  threshold  since  we 
came  here  to  live.” 

“Now,  Mrs.  Wilson,  remember — I will  take  no  de- 


DIFFERENCE  IN  CHARACTER. 


137 


nial — I want  yourself  and  Eliza  and  little  Harry  to 
come  and  spend  the  day  with  us  to-morrow.  Mr. 
Livingston  will  send  the  carriage  for  you  to-morrow 
morning  by  ten  o’clock,  and  you  must  come;  and 
those  extra  genteel  folks , who  suffer  the  rumseller  to 
break  their  friendship  just  when  he  has  broken  the 
heart  and  the  hopes  of  his  victims,  will  see  that  I am 
not  ashamed  of  you,  at  all  events.” 

“ Oh,  Mrs.  Livingston,  do  excuse  us.” 

“ I can’t,  Mrs.  Wilson.” 

“ I would — ” 

“Ho  use;  no  excuse  taken  this  time.  Say  yes. 
What  do  you  say,  Eliza  ? If  little  Harry  were  awake, 
I would  be  willing  to  leave  it  to  him.” 

“ What  would  the  people  think,  Mrs.  Livingston,  to 
see  your  carriage  in  this  street  ?” 

“Ho  matter  about  the  people,  Mrs.  Wilson — say 
yes,  quick.” 

“ Mrs.  Livingston,  suffer  me  to  ask  you  if  you  in 
tend  to  have  any  other  company?” 

“I  do,  Mrs.  Wilson.  You  would  have  thought  it 
very  strange,  a few  months  since,  if  you  had  come 
on  a visit  to  my  house,  and  found  no  other  com- 
pany.” 

“ Whom  may  -\ve  expect  to  meet,  Mrs.  Living- 
ston  ?” 

“Ho  person  better  than  yourself,  except  our  old 
minister — and  I call  him  better  than  any  person  else. 


188 


DICK  WILSON*. 


I have  been  thinking  that  I should  ask  Mrs.  Walston. 
I think  it  might  do  her  good.” 

“ Oh,  Mrs.  Livingston !”  exclaimed  Eliza,  before 
she  could  control  her  feelings — “ for  our  sakes  don’t 
ask  her.” 

Mrs.  Livingston  looked  a little  surprised,  and  then 
smiling,  said: 

“ Why  not,  my  sweet  child?” 
aI  ask  your  pardon,”  said  Eliza,  blushing  deeply; 
“ I ought  not  to  have  made  that  remark.” 

“ Would  you  rather  not  meet  her,  Eliza  ?” 

“ If  I had  my  choice,  I would  prefer  not  meeting 
her;  and  it  is  as  much  on  her  account  as  on  our  own.” 
“ Well,  then,  my  child,  you  wont  meet  her  at  my 
house.  What  makes  Donald  stay  so  long?”  ejaculated 
Mrs.  Livingston,  as  she  turned  to  look  out  of  the  win- 
dow. “ Yes,  he  is  coming  at  last.  Just  let  me  go  to 
the  door  for  one  moment.” 

There  was  something  in  the  name  of  Donald  which 
brought  Mrs.  Wilson  and  Eliza  at  once  to  the  window, 
and  there  they  saw  the  trusty  old  Scotchman  backing 
his  dray  up  to  the  door,  and,  as  might  be  supposed, 
they  were  a good  deal  surprised. 

Mrs.  Livingston  whispered  to  Donald  not  to  leave 
until  his  load  was  safely  put  away. 

“ No,  madam,”  replied  Donald,  “ I’ll  na  leave  the 
house  until  Mistress  Wilson  hae  all  these  things  put 
to  hand.  Quid  Donald  has  seen  women  alone  with 


DIFFERENCE  IN  CHARACTER.  139 

poverty  before,  and  be  won’t  do  anything  that  s 
mean.” 

11  Why,”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wilson,  u wbat  have  you 
been  doing,  Mrs.  Livingston  ?” 

“ Not  a word  of  blame,  Mrs.  Wilson ; if  there  is 
anything  wrong,  you  must  blame  my  family  this  time. 
Don’t  scold  me  ; you  can  settle  it  with  them  to-mor- 
row. Just  let  Donald  carry  these  things  into  the 
house  : it  will  be  a pleasure  for  him  to  do  so.” 

And  Donald,  smiling  and  looking  happy  for  the 
moment,  like  the  rest,  said, — • 

“ Yes,  Mistress  Livingston,  surely  it  will  be  a pleas- 
ure to  me  to  do  so.  Mistress  Wilson’s  done  me  many 
a kindness.” 

“ Here,”  said  Mrs.  Livingston,  “ is  a trunk,  which 
you  can  open,  and  you  will  find  that  it  contains  aljL 
necessary  explanation  in  reference  to  its  contents. 
When  you  are  through  with  it,  close  it  up  again,  and 
Donald  will  call  for  it  early  in  the  morning,  before  the 

stage  starts  for  B , and  Mr.  Livingston  will  see 

that  everything  in  relation  to  its  destination  is  ar- 
ranged,”— and  bidding  them  an  affectionate  good- 
night, she  left  for  her  home. 

u Mother,”  said  Eliza,  “ what  does  this  mean?” 

‘ ‘Don’t  you  recollect,  my  child,  that  you  said  a little 
vvdiile  since,  that  Providence  seemed  to  give  you  some 
good  news  to  tell  Dick  every  time  you  wrote  to  him  ?” 

“ Well,  mother,  God  is  good  I How  kind  his  coun-  * 


140 


DICK  WILSON. 


sels  are,  after  all ! I will  believe  him  now,  more  than 
ever.” 

“My  daughter,”  said  Mrs.  Wilson,,  “we  must  see 
what  is  to  be  done  with  tliis  trunk,  as  it  will  be  call- 
ed for  early  in  the  morning.  Light  a candle,  my 
child,  and  move  softly,  so  that  you  do  not  disturb 
Harry.” 

In  a few  moments  the  trunk  was  opened,  and  on  an 
examination  they  found  it  to  contain  a number  of  ar- 
ticles for  themselves  and  Harry,  and  the  remainder  for 
Dick.  In  a package,  marked,  “ from  Mr.  Livingston ,” 
they  found  the  material  for  an  elegant  mourning  dress, 
such  as  is  worn  by  the  better  class ; and  in  a slip  of 
paper  in  the  inside,  they  found  fifty  dollars  in  gold, 
with  this  inscription  upon  the  paper — “ The  rumseller 
carUt  take  this .” 

Eliza  found  a similar  passage,  marked,  “ from  Lucy 
Livingston ,” — and  there  was  one  for  little  Harry,  mark- 
ed, “ from  Master  Tommy  Livingston  ;”  and  then  a good 
many  little  affairs  not  marked  at  all. 

Dick’s  portion  was  a fine  one — enough  to  fit  him 
out  in  the  best  style,  and  contained  more  than  a suffi- 
cient amount  of  money  to  defray  all  expenses  of  mak- 
ing up.,  Mrs.  Wilson  understood  that  it  was  not  the 
wish  of  Mr.  Livingston  that  Dick  should  know  the 
donor,  and  propriety,  rather  than  a desire,  induced 
them  to  keep  it  from  him. 

After  the  whole  cargo — trunk,  provisions,  and  so 


DIFFERENCE  IN  CHARACTER. 


141 


on — had  beer  examined  and  arranged,  Mrs.  Wilson 
said  to  Eliza, — 

“ My  daughter,  God  is  on  the  side  of  the  afflicted ; 
and  if  most  of  our  former  friends  were  willing  to 
abandon  us,  and  leave  us  at  the  mercy  of  the  rumsel- 
ler,  let  us  thank  him  that  he  has  kept  a few  for  us,  and 
best  of  all,  that  He  is  our  friend.” 

After  offering  up  a fervent  prayer,  in  which  Dick 
was  feelingly  remembered,  these  weary  ones  retired  to 
rest — rest,  sweeter  and  more  refreshing  than  the  rum- 
seller  can  ever  know. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


NEW  HOME. — ITS  CHARACTER. — ITS  DANGERS. 

“Yet  turn,  ye  wanderers,  turn  your  steps  aside, 

Nor  trust  the  guidance  of  that  faithless  light, 

For  watchful,  lurking  ’mid  th’  unrustling  reed, 

At  those  murk  hours  the  wily  monster  lies.” 

The  office  of  a country  lawyer  is  generally  an  ad- 
mirable index  of  the  community  by  which  it  is  sur- 
rounded. In  a good  and  well-regulated  community, 
a lawyer,  as  well  as  all  others,  is  permitted  to  have  a 
portion  of  his  time  to  himself,  in  which  he  may  medi- 
tate upon  his  own  and  his  Ghent’s  interests.  When 
the  community  is  of  a different  character — idle,  inquis- 
itive, and  ignorant — attending  to  all  matters  but  such 
as  strictly  concern  themselves,  and  especially  if  there 
be  a surplus  of  rumsellers  or  rumbibbers  there — a 
lawyer’s  office  becomes  a mere  haunt  of  idlers. 

Here  we  find  Dick  Wilson  for  the  first  time  since 
we  left  him  at  his  mother’s  door,  with  the  good-bye 
trembling  on  his  lips. 

The  community,  into  the  bosom  of  which  Dick  had 
come,  was  far  from  being  what  it  should  have  been. 
The  social  influences  which  surrounded  him  here  were 


NEW  HOME. 


143 


unfavorable,  though  we  find  him  in  the  office  of  one 
of  the  best  lawyers  of  the  place.  In  this  office,  on 
the  evening  of  his  arrival,  we  find  him  sitting  alone 
in  the  shades  of  the  gathering  twilight,  and  dwelling 
with  absorbing  interest  upon  the  marked  contrast  be- 
tween his  present  and  his  former  home.  Twilight  is 
the  hour  for  contemplation.  Then  it  is,  as  the  eye  of 
day  closes  and  shuts  out  the  images  of  the  external 
world,  that  the  thoughts  rush  home  from  their  varied 
wanderings,  and  dwell  with  concentrated  energy  upon 
those  scenes  in  our  own  history  which  are  the  most 
impressive.  Thoughts  of  home,  sweet,  sweet  home, 
and  of  loved  ones  at  home,  were  consecrating  that 
hour  at  the  shrine  of  affection.  Thoughts  of  home — 
a mother,  a sister,  and  a little  infant  brother,  from 
whom  this  poor  boy  was  separated  by  the  cheerless 
hand  of  poverty — had  a claim,  endorsed  by  nature, 
upon  that  hour ! 

He  knew  that  at  that  hour  they  were  sending  forth 
their  thoughts — the  angelic  messengers  of  their  hearts 
— freighted  with  love  to  meet  his  own,  and  together, 
upon  some  intervening  mountain  cliff,  to  hold  there 
the  feast  of  love  and  sadness.  And  it  might  be  that  a 
mother’s  and  a sister’s  prayers  were  also  ascending  up 
to  heaven  in  his  behalf — for  the  twilight  hour  is  as  sa- 
cred to  prayer  as  it  is  to  the  cherished  recollections  of 
earth. 

What  a holy  thing  that  prayer  is,  when  it  rises  from 


144 


DICK  WILSON. 


the  smouldering  ruins  of  a broken  heart,  to  pour  its 
wants  into  the  attentive  ear  of  Heaven ! How  pure 
it  is,  when  it  goes  up  for  a beloved  one,  and  how 
mighty  it  is  too — for, 

u Prayer  ardent  opens  heaven — lets  down 
A stream  of  glory  on  the  consecrated  hour 
Of  man,  in  audience  with  the  Deity.” 

Dick  Wilson  had  now  been  several  months  from 
home,  and  although  he  was  not  more  than  one  hundred 
miles  from  it,  yet  from  the  morning  he  left  he  had  not 
been  there. 

Do  you  think,  my  friend,  that  he  had  lost  his  love 
of  home  ? Do  not  chide  this  young  man  with  indif- 
ference, for  it  were  cruelty  to  do  so.  Eemember,  he 
was  poor,  and  that  poverty  has  its  laws,  and  they 
must  be  obeyed.  He  was  unable  to  spare  the  little 
sum  which  it  would  have  required  to  carry  him  to 
those,  for  whose  sake  more  than  for  his  own  he  was 
contending  with  poverty. 

The  day  to  Dick  had  been  one  of  more  than  usual 
gloom,  and  yet  he  could  not  tell  why  it  was  so ; but 
ever  and  anon,  on  that  day,  which  had  been  one  of  a 
public  character,  one  and  another  of  those  young  men 
of  the  village,  with  whom  he  seemed  to  be  a general 
favorite,  would  dash  by  the  office  where  he  was  sit- 
ting alone,  in  a fine  buggy,  or  mounted  on  an  elegant 
horse,  a cloud  of  sadness — not  of  envy,  but  of  genu- 
ine sadness — was  seen  to  pass  over  his  features,  and 


NEW  HOME. 


145 


then  again  it  would  disappear,  leaving  in  its  stead  a 
strange  though  beautiful  serenity. 

He  was  thinking  of  the  time  when  poverty  had  not 
the  power  to  make  him  a recluse,  and  banish  him  from 
all  society,  and  from  all  the  enjoyments  of  which  a 
well-filled  purse  would  have  enabled  him  to  partake. 

The  contrast  between  his  present  and  former  situa- 
tion deeply  affected  him.  This  was  not  fully  appre- 
ciated even  by  those  who  knew  him  most  intimately. 
His  hopes  had  been  high.  He  had  felt  himself  equal 
in  position,  wealth  and  talent,  to  those  who  now  pass- 
ed him  with  averted  eyes,  and  reflections  upon  tfne 
change  were  continually  lacerating  his  feelings. 
Though  poor,  he  was  nevertheless  proud ; and  his 
sensitive  and  deeply  wounded  spirit  still  clung  to  his 
ruined  hopes.  Better  were  it  otherwise.  Better  if  the 
rum  traffic,  while  it  strikes  to  the  earth  the  hopes  of 
its  victim,  should  at  the  same  time  annihilate  all  sense 
of  the  painful  fact. 

Dick’s  revery  was  broken  suddenly  by  the  entrance 
of  several  young  men  of  his  acquaintance,  but  not  his 
most  intimate  companions. 

u Dick,” said  Horace  Stevens,  “you  appear  gloomy 
this  evening.  What  the  deuce  is  the  matter  with  you  ? 
We  have  been  looking  for  you  out  all  day.  I’m  sure 
a chap  with  your  prospects  never  ought  to  be  gloomy, 
and  should  never  keep  himself  away  from  the  fun  and 
frolic  of  the  day.  There  is  a time  for  everything  un- 
G 10 


146 


DICK  WILSON. 


der  the  sun — so  says  the  ‘ big  book’ — and  there  is  just 
as  much  a time  to  spree  as  anything  else.  House  my- 
self up  in  a law  office  on  such  days  as  these  ? By 
George,  I guess  not.  It  would  surprise  everybody  in 
this  village  to  see  me  doing  such  a thing  as  that ; and 
the  case  stands  about  in  the  same  way  with  these 
other  young  gentlemen.  ‘ Birds  of  a feather  flock  to- 
gether’— and  so  you  see  we  are  all  here ; and  I’ll  tell 
you  we  had  a round  time  to-day.  What’s  the  matter, 
Dick?  You  look  blue.  Do  you  feel  so?” 

“I  do  feel  rather  gloomy  this  evening,”  replied 
Dick,  “ but  I am  sure  I cannot  tell  why  it  is.  I do  not 
wish  to  feel  so  when  I can  avoid  it,  but  sometimes  a 
predisposition  in  this  way  will  get  the  better  of  me.” 

u Well,  Dick,  you  would  have  felt  a great  sight 
more  cheerful  this  evening,  if  you  had  gone  with  us 

to  the  pic-nic  to-day.  If  Squire  B wanted  his 

office  kept  open,  he  ought  to  have  done  it  himself. 
We  had  a glorious  time,  Dick,  and  lots  of  fun.  Judge 

L and  my  old  fellow  was  there,  and  they  got  up 

three  sheets  in  the  wind  devilish  soon  after  they  got 
there ; and  I thought  in  my  soul,  at  one  time,  that 
they  would  have  to  be  carried  home.  All  we  want- 
ed, to  make  a polite  finish  of  it,  was  a respectable 
row !” 

“I  am  surprised  to  hear  that  Judge  L was  in- 

toxicated. It  is  only  a few  weeks  since  he  pro- 
nounced the  sentence  of  death  on  Edward  H , 


NEW  HOME. 


147 


who  murdered  his  wife  and  two  daughters  while  he 
was  in  a state  of  intoxication.  You  all  remember 
what  a temperance  speech  he  made  on  that  occasion. 
I am  surprised  that  a man  who  holds  the  position  he 
does,  should  set  such  an  example.” 

“ 0 Lord ! Dick,  you  don’t  know  that  old  .coon  as 
well  as  we  do,  or  it  wouldn’t  surprise  you  at  all.  I 

question  if  he  has  thought  of  Edward  H since 

the  sheriff  took  him  out  of  the  court-house,  after  the 
sentence  of  death  was  pronounced.  Dick,  do  you  re- 
member how  sanctimoniously  he  mouthed  the  con- 
clusion of  the  form — “may  the  Lord  have  mercy  on 
your  soul  ?”  Well,  he  wasn’t  over  sober  then — I’ll  be 
bound  he  wasn’t.  After  all,  he  is  just  the  kind  of  a 
chap  that’s  needed  here.  The  rum  interest  think  he 
is  perfection  itself ; and  they  ought  to  think  so,  for  if 
it  wasn’t  for  him,  they  would  soon  be  mighty  scarce 
here.  You  see,  we  have  a good  many  religious  people 
here,  and  if  it  was  not  for  Judge  L , the  rum  in- 

terest would  scarcely  maintain  a living  existence.” 

“I  declare,  Horace,”  said  Dick,  “if  these  things  are 
really  so,  the  Judge  is  hardly  fit  to  decide  upon  any- 
thing, but  rum ; and  the  law,  and  the  evidence  must 
suffer  amazingly  in  his  hands.” 

“ Well,  Dick,  let  Judge  L go  for  this  time.  Do 

you  know  that  we  have  a 1 belle’  here  from  New  York 
— a real  eastern  beauty?  She  was  at  the  pic-nic, 
and  she  has  been  as  spry  as  a cricket  all  the  day — 


148 


DICK  WILSON. 


part  of  everything,  and  almost  the  whole  of  some 
things ! I don’t  know  how  the  mischief  she’s  heard 
of  you  so  soon.  You  had  better  be  scraping  acquaint- 
ance pretty  quick.  There  is  no  time  to  lose.  I would 
give  my  head  for  her.  I tell  you,  Dick,  you  would 
have  enjoyed  yourself.”  * 

“ I suppose  I would  have  enjoyed  myself,  Horace. 
At  least,  I should  have  put  on  the  appearance .” 

“The  appearance!  Well,  Dick  Wilson,  you’re  the 
last  fellow  I should  have  shot  at,  expecting  to  kill  a 
hypocrite !” 

u I think,  Horace,  your  expression  will  hardly  rank 
me  amongst  that  class.  In  everything,  I move  under 
pressure.  Tell  me  who  is  this  young  lady  ?” 

“ She  is  Miss  Lucy  S , from  Hew  York,  and  is 

one  of  the  liveliest  beauties  you  ever  saw.  Why, 
man,  she’s  an  angel,  all  but  the  wings ! and  let  me  tell 
you,  she  intends  giving  you  a chase,  and  I’m  mistaken 
if  it  won’t  be  a merry  one,  too.  You  must  be  mov- 
ing early,  Dick ; for  if  you  want  to  catch  her,  let  me 
tell  you,  you’ll  have  all  kinds  of  obstacles  to  contend 
with  ; and  you  had  better  prepare  yourself  for  it,  and 
don’t  say  that  I didn’t  give  you  fair  warning.” 

u Horace,”  replied  Dick,  “ you  can  have  her  with 
all  my  heart,  and  if  you  think  it  will  make  your 
chances  any  better  than  they  are,  I will  give  you  this 
moment  a quit  claim  to  all  my  right,  title  and  interest 


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149 


in  the  beautiful  bird.  But  I won’t  guarantee  the  catch- 
ing. You  must  look  out  for  that.” 

“ That  will  do  very  well  to  talk  about;  but  she’s  an 
archer.” 

11  That’s  just  what  I’ve  been  thinking,  Horace ; and 
I advise  you  to  approach  with  all  possible  caution, 
and  be  sure,  as  you  go  along,  to  keep  a path  open,  in 
case  of  retreat,  for  such  a thing  may  be  necessary. 
And  further,  if  what  you  say  is  true,  I don’t  believe 
that  she  is  worth  catching.” 

“ I tell  you,  Dick,  if  what  you  have  said  were  to 
reach  her  ears,  you  would  find  yourself  in  a predica- 
ment ! I’d  like  to  know  what  kind  of  stuff  you  are 
made  of.” 

“ I fancy,  Horace,  it’s  pretty  good.  It  has  stood 
hardships  already.  And  so  far  as  knowing  what  I 
have  said  is  concerned,  I have  no  objection  to  your 
telling  her,  if  you  will  only  be  thoughtful  enough  to 
tell  what  you  said  yourself.” 

“ Yes,  indeed ! I ain’t  fool  enough  for  that.” 

“Do  you  not  know,  Horace,  that  it  would  be  very 
ungentlemanly  in  you  to  accuse  me  before  that  young 
lady,  with  having  spoken  disrespectfully  or  unkindly 
of  her,  when  you  have  opened  every  inch  of  the 

way?  Suppose  I should  go  to  Judge  L and 

your  father,  and  tell  them  what  you  have  said  about 
them?” 

“ Yes,  Dick,  I know.  My  father  and  Judge  L , 


150 


DICK  WILSOJST. 


(if  yon  don’t  know  it,  I will  tell  yon,)  1 rule  the  roost5 
about  these  ‘ diggins.’  Come,  come,  boys,  let’s  be  off. 
Let’s  go  right  np  to  the  Jndge’s;”  and  these  worthies 
started,  mnch  to  Dick’s  satisfaction. 

The  visits  of  these  yonng  gentlemen , who  were,  for 
the  most  part,  what  may  be  called  well-dressed,  poor- 
ly-cnltivated  street-loafers,  who  seemed  to  think  that 
wealth  would  make  np  for  empty  heads  and  bad 
hearts,  with  the  consequences  necessarily  flowing  from 
them,  rather  increased  than  allayed  Dick’s  sense  of 
sadness.  They  had  rudely  broken  in  upon  and  scat- 
tered the  beautiful  imagery  which,  in  spite  of  his  de- 
pression, he  had  pictured  to  himself,  and  in  which 
again  he  saw  his  mother,  his  sister,  and  his  little 
Harry,  whom  he  tenderly  loved,  in  the  enjoyment  of 
happiness.  He  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair,  and 
said  to  himself : 

“This  is  strange.  These  fellows  are  not  in  the 
habit  of  using  such  familiarity  with  me,  and  they  are 
not  by  any  means  amongst  my  intimate  friends  either. 
This  gives  me  a clue  to  some  of  Mrs.  Watson’s  hints. 
I wish  I knew  what  it  means.  But  it  is  my  best  plan 
to  be  careful.  Well,  at  all  events,  they  can’t  drive  me 
from  my  independence : that  is  something  which,  in 
spite  of  the  rumseller,  and  misfortune  too,  I have 
been  able  to  keep,  and  keep  it  I will,  while  there  is  a 
single  crag  to  which  I am  able  to  cling.  If  there  is 
treachery  in  this,  I will  defy  them  to  move  me.  If 


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151 


this  is  their  game,  it  is  a pretty  cool  calculation,  and 
the  whole  of  it  is  not  visible  yet.” 

When  Dick  Wilson  entered  the  village  of  B , 

where  he  designed  finishing  his  legal  studies,  prepara- 
tory to  admission  to  the  bar,  it  was  with  the  con- 
sciousness that  he  was  very  poor  and  wholly  depend- 
ent on  his  own  exertions.  This  consciousness,  if  he 
had  been  accustomed  to  poverty,  would  have  been  all 
the  safer  and  better  for  him ; but  he  was  not  accus- 
tomed to  it.  Poverty  on  his  shoulders  was  an  awk- 
ward fit , and  he  had  never  learned  those  arts  which 
early  necessity  alone  can  teach. 

When  the  stage  stopped  at  B , to  get  a new  set 

of  horses,  as  usual,  quite  a number  of  those  who  were 
in  the  habit  of  doing  so,  collected  at  the  stage  office, 
and  remained  there  until  the  last  horse  was  hitched, 
and  the  last  passenger  in  the  stage.  Dick  was  look- 
ing on  while  these  things  were  transpiring,  and  just 
as  the  driver  snapped  his  whip,  a ras?/-cheeked  gentle- 
man cried  out : 

“ Halloo,  driver ! you’ve  lost  a passenger.” 

“I  guess  not,”  said  the  driver,  and ‘off  he  went, 
flying  at  the  rate  of  three  miles  an  hour. 

When  it  was  understood  that  a passenger  had  been 
dropped  from  the  stage  at  B , many  persons  flock- 

ed to  the  favored  rumseller’s  quarters  to  see  him,  for 
peradventure  it  might  be  some  distinguished  man; 
aiKl  if  all  the  curious  who  were  fond  of  rum  and 


152 


DICK  WILSOIST. 


strange  faces  didn’t  see  him,  they  would  have  thought 
themselves  behind  the  time  sadly.  Dick  was  con- 
siderably annoyed  by  this  demonstration  of  inquisi- 
tiveness, but  at  once  set  about  finding  some  employ- 
ment, the  proceeds  of  which  would  enable  him  to 
pay  his  boarding  and  defray  contingent  expenses. 
This  he  was  soon  able  to  accomplish,  and  a day  or 
two  found  him  very  comfortably  situated  in  this  re- 
spect. He  had  engaged  with  a gentleman  who  was  in 
a large  business  to  keep  his  books  for  him,  and  in  this 
engagement  he  was  exceedingly  fortunate.  The  fam- 
ily to  whose  acquaintance  and  to  whose  confidence 
very  soon  this  introduced  him,  was  just  the  kind  un- 
der whose  guardianship  a young  man  like  Dick  Wil- 
son, or  indeed  any  young  man,  would,  if  anywhere, 
be  safe — a much  better  and  safer  place  of  resort  for  a 
young  man  than  the  hotel  with  its  bar-room . Dick  was 
not  long  in  making  the  acquaintance  of  this  excellent 
family,  and  then  he  freely  and  fully  committed  to 
them  the  history  of  his  and  his  family’s  misfortunes ; 
and  who  does  not  know  how  soothing  it  is  to  have  a 
few  faithful  ones  to  whom  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  the 
heart  may  be  committed,  and  where  it  is  certain  they 
will  be  safe  ? Here  Dick  felt  that  he  was  safe,  and 
this  feeling  introduced  him  at  once  into  the  affections 
of  the  family,  so  that  in  his  hours  of  gloom  and  de- 
spondency he  always  turned  towards  their  door  fo7 
sympathy. 


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153 


At  the  end  of  Dick’s  soliloquy,  where  we  left  him, 
he  found  himself  in  the  cheerful  sitting-room  of  Mr. 
Watson’s  family,  where  everything — children  and  all 
— were  so  well  in  keeping  that  he  could  not  but  feel 
that  this  was  something  approaching  to  home.  In  a 
moment  he  found  himself  surrounded  by  all  the  chil- 
dren in  the  house,  for  with  them  he  was  an  especial 
favorite;  and  few  people  are  better  judges  of  real 
goodness  of  heart  than  children.  Mrs.  Watson  tried 
to  get  them  off  him,  but  it  wouldn’t  do : they  were 
accustomed  to  regard  Dick’s  coming  as  a holiday,  and 
they  would  have  their  fun,  let  who  would  scold. 

“Mrs.  Watson,”  said  Dick,  “do  let  these  children 
alone.  I assure  you  it  is  a pleasure  to  me  to  have 
these  demonstrations  of  their  innocent  affections.  The 
childlike  simplicity  of  life  is  a lovely  thing,  and  it  is  a 
pity  that  it  cannot  be  preserved  through  life.  Mrs. 
Watson,  I have  been  afraid  that  I have  intruded  my- 
self too  much  upon  your  family  ; but  I feel  at  home 
in  your  house,  and  I know  that  if  I should  make  an 
unadvised  remark,  as  I often  do,  that  it  will  not  be 
echoed  from  ear  to  ear  under  the  stealthy  garb  of  a 
leaky  secrecy,  until  the  whole  community  is  in  possess- 
ion of  it.” 

“ We  are  always  glad  to  see  you,  Richard,”  replied 
Mrs.  Watson,  “and  we  hope  you  will  come  to  our 
house  with  as  much  freedom  as  you  would  if  it  were 
your  mother’s.  You  seem  to  feel  unhappy  this  even- 


154 


DICK  WILSON. 


ing.  What  is  wrong  ? Have  yon  received  unpleas- 
ant news  from  home  ?” 

“ Oh  no,  Mrs.  Watson;  I had  a letter  from  my 
sister  yesterday,  and  they  are  all  well,  which  is  all  I 
can  expect.  Since  the  death  of  my  father,  I have 
hardly  been  free  from  melancholy ; and  it  seems  to 
grow  upon  me.  I have  tried  time  and  again  to  tear 
myself  away  from  its  embrace,  but  I cannot.  There 
is  a mystery  about  it,  for  to  me  even  this  melancholy 
at  times  has  an  attraction  about  it,  which  holds  me 
like  a charm.” 

“Well,  Richard,”  said  Mrs.  Watson,  while  a 
mother’s  affection  brightened  her  countenance,  “ that 
may  be  true,  but  you  know  that  after  the  natural  ap- 
petite is  satiated  by  the  feast,  the  rarest  delicacies  are 
insipid.  I think  it  is  just  so  with  the  mind;  and  a 
feast  of  melancholy,  while  it  is  unsafe  and  unnourish- 
ing, will  render  substantial  food  unpalatable,  and  at 
last  itself  will  turn  into  a nauseous  insipidity.  It  was 
so  with  Lord  Byron.  He  feasted  upon  melancholy; 
and  the  wild  strains  of  his  Alpine  song,  as  it  mingled 
with  the  roar  of  the  cataract,  and  chimed  with  the 
screams  of  the  eagle,  are  the  evidences  of  the  power 
by  which  it  had  been  a prisoner.  He  feasted  upon  its 
poison,  until  every  fire  which  burned  at  the  source  of 
that  lofty  genius  went  out  in  gloom.  This,  Richard, 
is  the  history  of  a cherished  melancholy,  and  it  is  pos- 
sible that  we  may  cherish  it  with  the  very  breath  by 


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155 


which,  we  think  we  are  trying  to  expel  it.  But  few 
of  those  who  have  given  themselves  over  to  its  com- 
panionship, have  ever  been  able  to  give  a good  reason 
for  doing  so.  Be  assured  that  it  is  begotten  in  the 
mind  by  an  evil  genius  for  an  evil  purpose,  and 
Eugene  Aram  and  Lord  Byron  are  fearful  evidences 
of  its  ulterior  consequences.  I would  -advise  you  to 
break  away,  if  it  is  possible,  from  that  which  will 
overcast  with  gloom  the  brightest  vision  your  imagin- 
ation can  conceive.  A little  poison  may  be  good  for 
the  system  at  times,  but  too  much  will  kill — a little 
melancholy  may  be  good  for  the  mind  at  times,  but 
too  much  will  ruin  it.  You  have  told  me,  in  the  his- 
tory of  your  troubles,  that  your  education  from  the 
nursery  wras  rather  fashionable  than  religious.  This 
is  your  great  misfortune,  and  it  has  been  the  misfor- 
tune and  the  ruin  of  many  thousands.  "What  shall 
that  be  called  which  robs  the  child  of  its  priceless 
birthright?  What  name  does  that  omission  wear 
which  fails  to  do  what  reason  and  revelation  impera- 
tively command  ? So  far  as  your  worldly  prospects 
are  concerned,  I am  sure  you  have  no  reason  to  be 
cast  down.  Your  winter  is  nearly  passed  by,  I hope, 
and  the  joyful  spring-time  is  near  at  hand.  It  is  true 
that  your  earthly  prospects  have  been  wickedly  and 
wantonly  blighted  by  the  rumseller,- — the  all  of 
earthly  competency  upon  which  yourself  and  your 
loved  ones  were  dependent,  is  in  the  pockets  of  those 


156 


DICK  WILSON. 


who  more  than  murdered  your  father,  and  with  whom 
God  will  yet  reckon  ! You  have  had  domestic  afflic- 
tions of  the  severest  character.  The  home  of  your 
childhood  has  been  broken  up  by  a most  wicked  rob- 
bery. Your  dead  have  been  buried  out  of  your 
sight,  and  the  cold  damp  grave  encloses  their  forms. 
You  will  see  them  no  more.  Beware  of  that  monster 
through  whose  influence  this  tempest  of  desolation 
has  been  brought  to  your  door.  Fly  from  it  and  its 
smooth-tongued  abettors  as  you  would  from  the  very 
gates  of  destruction ! Why,  Bichard,  you  ought  not 
to  feel  gloomy.  Just  see  what  you  have  to  live  for — 
and  you  have  a prospect  very  soon  of  having  your 
dear  ones  with  you.” 

“Mrs.  Watson,  my  sadness  is  more  for  them  than 
for  myself,”  replied  Dick. 

“I  know  that,  Eichard,  but  why  should  it  be  so? 
Your  talents  and  education,  with  your  amiable  dispo- 
sition, will  bring  you  a reputation  and  a fortune  at 
any  bar.  You  have  many  warm  friends  here,  who 
will  do  anything  for  you  that  may  be  necessary. 
But  I will  forewarn  you — and  I do  this  for  your 
greater  safety — that  there  are  some  who  appear  to  be 
your  friends  in  your  presence,  and  whom  it  would  be 
very  unsafe  for  you  to  trust  too  far.  These  persons 
have  been  trying,  and  they  will  still  try,  to  accomplish 
your  ruin.  They  are  noUparticular  how  they  do  it — • 
to  accomplish  it  is  the  end ; and  any  means  which 


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157 


promises  to  bring  it  about  will  be  unscrupulously 
used.” 

“Ah!  is  this  possible,  Mrs.  Watson?” 

“ Yes,  I know  it  to  be  the  case,  and  my  husband 
and  myself  have  talked  much  about  it,  and  concluded 
that  it  would  be  best  to  put  you  on  your  guard  against 
them.” 

“ Do  you  know  the  cause,  Mrs. Watson?” 

“ Well,  Richard,  in  the  first  place,  all  the  rumsellers  in 
the  place,  but  one,  are  your  enemies,  and  only,  I pre- 
sume, because  you  do  not  frequent  their  bar-rooms !” 
“Well,  Mrs.  Watson,  that  is  no  loss — that’s  a clear 
gain,  and  I am  just  that  much  safer;  and  if  the  other 
one,  who  in  some  respects  is  a pretty  clever  fellow, 
hated  me  too,  then  I should  consider  myself  safe. 
Mrs.  Watson,  I need  not  explain,  but  it  is  not  a strange 
thing  that  the  drunkard’s  son  should  himself  become 
a drunkard  /” 

“Well  Richard,  that  reason,  in  connection  with  a 
spirit  of  jealousy,  is  all  that  I know.” 

“ This,” replied  Dick,  “is  hardly  a sufficient  ground 
of  action  against  a young  man  who  is  as  poor  as  I am, 
and  who  has  such  responsibilities  as  mine.” 

“ Meanness , vice , and  duplicity , Richard,  always  act 
without  a reason,  and  hence  it  is  that  so  much  of  their 
action  is  in  the  dark.  There  is  Horace  Stevens — you 
must  watch  that  young  man  narrowly,  as  well  as  the 
few  who  associate  with  him.  He  has,  as  you  have 


158 


DICK  WILSOX. 


no  doubt  learned,  been  raised  in  tbis  place,  or  ratber  be 
bas  grown  up  bere.  His  father  is  one  of  onr  wealthy 
men;  but  if  you  should  ask  him  bow  and  where 
be  accumulated  bis  wealth,  be  would  be  ashamed  to 
tell  you.  He  bas  become  very  proud  now,  and  thinks, 
I have  no  doiibt,  that  bis  gold-headed  cane  and  spec- 
tacles will  dazzle  people’s  eyes  so  much,  that  they 
will  not  look  to  see  where  these  things  came  from.  I 
will  tell  you  something  about  him.  He  accumulated 
bis  fortune  in  that  1 old  stone  bouse  ’ where  black  Jim’s 
family  live  now,  and  it  was  one  of  the  worst  places 
within  many  miles  of  tbis  place ; and  twenty  years 
ago  the  better  part  of  this  community  thought  him- 
self and  his  family  unfit  to  live  in  civilized  society. 
Most  of  his  family  perished  by  intemperance  ! Yes, 
that  same  proud,  ignorant  man,  whom  you  will  now 
meet  flourishing  his  cane  in  the  street,  has  been  the 
cause  of  more  tears,  and  griefs,  and  the  loss  of  more 
lives  in  this  community,  than  all  the  other  causes  com- 
bined ; and  he  is  strongly  suspected  of  having  com- 
mitted murder  with  his  own  hand.  About  twenty- 
five  years  since,  a drover  mysteriously  disappeared 
from  his  house,  and  there  is  but  little  doubt  but  he 
knows  all  about  it.  His  son  Horace,  as  might  be  ex- 
pected, is  worthless.  His  father  and  Judge  L to- 

gether, have  managed  to  make  him  a lawyer,  and  he 
intends  opening  an  office  here  again,  as  he  has  several 
times  before  in  the  course  of  three  or  four  years ; and 


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159 


he  regards  your  plan  of  opening  an  office  here  as  preju- 
dicial to  his  interests ; and  the  fact  is,  Richard,  the 
poor  fellow  knows  no  more  about  law  than  my  little 
Willie  does.” 

“Do  you  think,  Mrs.  Watson,  that  Judge  L is 

in  this  matter  ?” 

“ I think  he  is ; it  is  amongst  the  kind  of  people 
with  whom  he  always  acts,  and  it  would  be  a strange 
thing  if  he  should  forsake  the  rumsellers  and  their 
pets  now.” 

“Well,  Mrs.  Watson,  do  you  know  a young  lady 
who  is  visiting  at  Judge  L ’s,  from  New  York.” 

“Oh  yes,  I know  her  very  well — have  you  seen 
her?” 

“I  have  not,  but  Horace  Stevens  called  on  me  this 
evening,  and  spoke  of  her.” 

“I  hope  you  said  nothing  that  will  flatter  her  ; for 
she  will  hear  every  word  you  said,  and  probably 
more.” 

“ I rather  think  she  won’t  call  it  flattery.  I must 
go.  I feel-  better  than  I did  when  I came  in.  But  I 
must  call  again,  and  hear  the  history  of  the  drover. 
Mrs.  Watson,  if  I do  rise,  and  get  the  better  of  pov- 
erty, treachery,  and  the  rumseller,  I will  ever  re- 
member with  gratitude  your  family ; and  if  I fall — 
for  I feel  the  possibility  of  this  every  day  ; for  I once 
loved  wine,  and  drank  it  freely — then  let  my  memory 
sleep  in  the  grave !” 


CHAPTER  IX. 


TEMPEKANCE  MEETING — ITS  EESULTS. 

K Sirs,  ye  know  that  by  this  craft 
We  have  our  wealth.” 

The  rumsellers  at  B were  thrown  into  great 

perplexity  and  consternation  when  they  heard  that  on 
the  previous  Sabbath  Mr.  Smith,  the  minister,  had  the 
boldness  to  announce  that  on  the  following  Wednes- 
day there  would  be  a meeting,  to  take  into  considera- 
tion the  best  means  of  lessening  the  evils  of  intem- 
perance in  the  place.  Such  things  had  beei%attempt- 
ed  there  before,  but,  unfortunately,  the  craftsmen  had 
generally  managed  to  break  them  up  in  some  way  or 
other,  so  that  little,  if  any,  benefit  resulted  from  them. 
This  time  the  matter  had  been  well  considered  by  a 
few  before  it  was  made  public,  and  for  that  occasion 
they  had  the  promise,  from  a very  eminent  lawyer  at 
a distance,  that  he  would  be  present ; and  when  this 
was  understood,  their  consternation  was  greatly  in- 
creased. They  did  not  like  this  impudent  lawyer ^ as 
they  called  him,  and  they  were  afraid  of  his  influence 
and  his  speech,  which  they  knew  would  be  a plain 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING — ITS  RESULTS.  161 

one,  if  lie  should  come ; and  many  of  them  hoped 
that  something  would  occur  to  prevent  his  coming. 

Mr.  Stevens  and  Judge  L , the  one  superannu- 

ated, and  the  other  worse,  were  seen,  during  the 
whole  of  the  afternoon  on  Monday,  parading  the 
streets.  Early  on  Tuesday  morning  they  were  doing 
the  same.  The  rumsellers  were  all  at  their  doors. 
Their  ostlers  and  boot-blacks  seemed  to  have  a holiday, 
and  their  masters  were  watching  the  signs  of  the 
times.  They  were  in  a wonderful  state  of  excite- 
ment, and  in  their  imaginations,  already  they  saw  the 
dimes , whose  jingle  was  more  familiar  to  them  than 
anything  but  profanity,  sliding  noiselessly  into  an 
honorable  channel. 

As  Judge  L and  his  particular  friend,  Mr. 

Stevens,  were  passing  Mr.  Smith’s  quarters,  ap- 
parently as  much  in  a hurry  as  usual,  Mr.  Smith  said 
to  them : 

“ Havn’t  you  got  one  yet  ?” 

“We  havn’t  got  any,  and  I don’t  think  we  will,’ 
was  the  half-growled  reply  of  Mr.  Stevens. 

“Have  you  tried  Squire  B ?”  asked  Smith. 

“ Yes,  we  have,”  said  Judge  L . 

“ What  did  he  say?”  continued  Smith. 

“Just  what  we  might  have  expected,”  replied 
Stevens;  “that  we  might  go  to  the  devil,  for  htf 
wasn’t  going  to  disgrace  himself  with  such  business .” 

“ Where  else  have  you  been  ?”  said  Smith. 

11 


162 


DICK  WILSON. 


“ Well,  the  fact  is,77  said  Judge  L — * — *,  looking  as 
if  lie  had  got  to  the  end  of  his  judgment,  which  was 
a very  short  distance  by  a straight  line , “ we  have  tried 
everybody  but  Dick  Wilson,  and  I doubt  not  that  he 
will  serve  us  just  as  his  unmannerly  preceptor  did. 
If  he  will  consent  to  appear  on  the  stand  for  us,  I 
would  rather  trust  him  than  any  man  in  the  village.77 

“ Do  you  think  you  can  get  him  ?77  said  another 
rumseller,  who  had  just  come  up,  almost  breathless 
and  trembling  with  agitation. 

“It  is  doubtful,77  said  Judge  L — — ; “but  we  will 
make  the  effort,77  and  off  they  started  to  test  the 
power  of  flattering  words  in  winning  him  to  their 
service. 

When  they  entered  the  office,  they  found  just  the 
person  who  had  a better  right  there  than  any  other 
person,  and  yet  the  very  one  they  did  not  want  to 
see — Dick’s  preceptor,  who  half  an  hour  before  had 
recommended  them  to  the  devil  for  suitable  assist- 
ance. Squire  B was  sharp,  as  lawyers  usually 

are,  and  it  didn’t  take  him  twenty-four  hours  to  guess 
what  they  had  come  for ; and  taking  his  cane  in  his 
hand,  he  marched  out  of  the  office. 

“This  is  a pleasant  morning,  Mr.  Wilson,77  said 

Judge  L , and  then  added,  “How  does  the  law 

go,  Mr.  Wilson?” 

“ Bather  slowly,”  said  Dick,  carelessly. 

/(I711  be  bound,”  said  Judge  L , “ you  ought  not 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING.' — -ITS  RESULTS.  163 

to  say  that,  with  the  prospect  you  haye  before  you. 
Such  talents  as  yours  will  win  a reward  anywhere. 
Speaking  is  an  indispensable  qualification  for  a suc- 
cessful lawyer,  and  if  I had  been  a natural  speaker,  I 
shouldn’t  have  thanked  the  Governor  for  the  Judge- 
ship.  You  are  a fine  speaker,  Mr.  Wilson,  and  you 
ought  to  improve  all  the  opportunities  you  have  to  let 
the  people  know  it,  and  then,  when  you  come  to  the 
bar,  you  will  at  once  be  crowded  with  business.  You 
have  heard,  I presume,  that  the  officious  part  of  this 
community  are  arraying  themselves  against  those 
whom  they  tauntingly  call  rumsellers , and  that  they 
are  to  have  a meeting  to-morrow.  We  design  drum- 
ming up  one  for  the  next  day,  and  have  called  on  you 
to  see  if  you  will  agree  to  take  the  stump  for  our  cause 
on  that  occasion.” 

“ No,  Judge,  I will  not,”  said  Dick,  peremptorily. 

“ You  had  better  do  so,  Mr.  Wilson : it  will  be  to 
your  advantage  in  more  ways  than  one,”  said  the 
Judge,  in  a half-pleading  and  half-menacing  tone. 

“ Why  didn’t  you  ask  Squire  B , before  he  left 

the  office  ?” 

uWe  don’t  want  him,”  said  Mr.  Stevens  ; “he  would 
do  us  more  harm  than  good.” 

“No,  no,”  said  Judge  L , “rather  than  try  him, 

I will  risk  the  stump  myself.” 

Just  as  the  Judge  finished  his  negation  and  his  lie. 
Squire  B entered  the  office,  and  said, — 


164 


DICK  WILSON. 


“Dick,  this  is  a rare  chance  to  immortalize  yourself. 
Go  to  the  meeting,  and  speak  there,  and  every  respect- 
able dog  in  the  village  will  show  you  his  teeth,  and 
every  high-minded  young  lady,  when  you  enter  her 
house,  will  show  you  the  door.  I would  like  to  see 
you  going  to  Mr.  W atson’s  or  Mr.  Shepard’s  after  that. 
They  asked  me  to  go,  and  I recommended  them  to  go 
where  they  get  all  their  assistance  in  carrying  on  this 
business.” 

“ Why,  Squire  B , they  have  just  told  me  they 

wouldn’t  have  you,”  said  Dick,  laughing. 

“ That  was  true,  sir,  when  they  found  they  couldn’t 
get  me.  I will  defend  a murderer  in  court  whenever 
I am  called  upon  to  do  so,  however  aggravated  the 
case  may  be ; but  I will  not  let  myself  down  to  be- 
come an  apologist  for,  or  plead  that  cause  which  is 
the  origin  of  so  much  misery.” 

These  gentlemen  were  chap-fallen,  and  left  much 
disappointed.  The  village  was  soon  filled  with  hand- 
bills, calling  together  the  worshippers  of  rum,  on 
Thursday  afternoon,  in  the  court-house,  and  to  which 

the  announcement  that  Judge  L would  address 

the  meeting,  was  appended  in  capitals. 

“This  is  a pretty  piece  of  business,”  said  one  of  a 
company  of  rumsellers  who  had  established  them- 
selves about  an  advertisement  which  graced  the  town- 
pump,  “that  we,  for  our  own  safety,  should  be  com- 
pelled to  resort  to  self-defence  in  this  way  ; for  if  it 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING. — ITS  RESULTS.  165 

were  not  for  ns,  the  grass  would  grow  up  in  the  streets 
of  this  village.” 

“ Yes,”  said  another,  “ and  it  is  a high-handed,  dar- 
ing act,  for  we  have  the  law  and  the  constitution  on 

our  side.  Judge  L told  me  so,  and  he  is  right,  T 

am  sure.” 

“ Aye,  aye,”  said  a third,  “ but  we’ll  fix  this  mat- 
ter. I’m  up  to  games  of  all  kinds,  and  I sha’n’t  fail 
this  time.  I’ll  tell  you  what  I’ll  do : I’ll  make  Jim 
Watkins  and  Pete  Hany  just  drunk  enough  for  them 
to  make  their  way  to  the  church,  and  then  I’ll  pay 
them  for  going  there  ; and  as  sure  as  guns,  if  they  see 
each  other,  they  will  kick  up  a fight  right  in  the 
house,  and  it  will  trouble  them  to  part  them.” 

“ Do  you  think  you  can  do  this,  Smith  ?”  said  one. 

“ Never  mind,  if  I can’t.  I’m  an  old  bird  in  that 
work,  and  if  I can’t,  nobody  else  need  try.  • I’ll  go  my- 
self, and  watch  the  fun.” 

“Then,  Smith,”  said  one,  “you  must  be  hunting 
up  your  birds.  It  is  only  about  three  hours  now  un- 
til they  meet.” 

“I’ll  be  ready.  It  won’t  take  me  long  to  prime 
them.” 

Just  then  they  saw  a man  coming  into  the  village 
on  horseback,  and  riding  in  a very  easy,  careless 
manner. 

Judge  L had,  sometime  before  this,  joined  the 

company,  and  suddenly  looking  up,  and  fixing  his 


166 


DICK  WILSOST. 


eyes  on  the  advancing  figure  on  horseback,  he  said, 

“Good  Heavens!  boys,  it’s  lawyer  B ! I must 

be  getting  out  of  this  crowd.” 

It  was  too  late,  however ; for  in  far-sightedness  he 

had  no  advantage  of  lawyer  B ; and  he  was,  at 

the  very  beginning  of  his  retreat,  greeted  by  the  shrill 
voice  of  the  mounted  man,  calling  him  to  stop.  As 
he  brought  his  horse’s  head  alongside,  he  said — 
“ Judge,  I came  here,  by  particular  request,  to  make 
a temperance  speech  to-day.  This  I know  to  be  a 
very  disorderly  place,  and  I will  hold  you  responsible 
for  any  annoyance  or  blackguardism  which  may  be 
witnessed  at  the  meeting,”  and  touching  his  horse, 
which  was  like  himself,  of  fine  blood,  he  swept  by  the 
crowd  of  abashed  rumsellers,  like  a superior  being. 
After  he  was  out  of  sight,  a few  steps  brought  Judge 

L into  the  gang  again,  and  then  he  said,  “ Smith, 

you  must  not  send  those  fellows  there  to-day ; that 
lawyer  has  great  influence,  and  can  kill  this  place  if* 
he  wishes  to  do  so.” 

“ How  the  devil  can  he  do  that?”  inquired  Smith, 
in  a rage. 

“ Why,  he  can  kill  me!”  said  the  Judge. 

“Well,  I can’t  think  you  are  all  the  place,  by  a 
long  ways.” 

“ Well,  if  you  do  send  them,  Smith,  remember  I 
won’t  speak  at  our  meeting  to-morrow.” 

At  the  appointed  time,  the  meeting  was  organized, 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING. — ITS  RESULTS.  167 

and  the  business  commenced  in  the  old  way,  on  the 
general  principles  of  voluntary  abstinence.  These 
people  although  heartily  sick  of  the  rumseller’s  work, 
yet  they  never  dreamed  that  such  a thing  as  the  mod- 
ern “ Maine  Law”  could  have  an  existence,  and  this 
was  not  strange.  Nobody  wondered  that  Franklin 
could  not  catch  the  lightning  for  which  he  was  fishing 
with  his  kite ; but  every  one  was  astonished  when  it 
became,  from  his  experimenting,  a common  medium 
of  communication. 

If  there  had  been  a possibility  of  procuring  any 
such  law  as  the  “ Maine  Law,”  they  would  have  drop- 
ped once  the  voluntary  system ; and  they  would 
have  seized  the  true  instrument  of  success,  and  stamp- 
ed felony  upon  the  traffic ; but  they  had  not  reached, 
by  several  years,  the  perfect  day , and  they  intended  to 
do  the  very  best  they  could,  and  oppose  as  mighty  an 
effort  as  possible,  to  those  withering  curses,  before 
which  youth,  manhood,  age  and  innocence  were  being 
prostrated,  and  whose  very  hearts  were  being  torn  out 
of  their  bodies. 

The  lawyer,  without  any  resolutions  being  before 
the  house,  rose,  and  commenced  his  speech  by  giving 
a glowing  description  of  the  squad  of  rumsellers  who 
had  gathered  about,  and  were  hugging  the  town 

pump,  and  how  he  had  cut  off  Judge  L *’s  retreat, 

and  secured  good  order  for  the  occasion. 

“ Gentlemen,”  said  he,  “if  you  ever  saw  a rumsel- 


168 


DICK  WILSON. 


ler  who  was  a good  man,  yon  saw  a man  whose  daily 
practice  was  immeasurably  overbalancing  for  evil, 
both  his  profession  and  your  opinion  of  his  good- 
ness.” 

This  seemed  to  startle  some  of  the  audience,  for  it 
was  a strong  expression,  and  some  thought  it  was 
going  too  far  and  too  fast.  If  the  lawyer  had  spoken 

restrictively  of  the  rumsellers  of  B , they  would 

not  have  questioned  his  opinion ; but  as  it  was,  they 
didn’t  know  but  he  included  the  whole  world,  and 
this  they  were  sure  was  a wide  sweep.  Said  he  again 
— “ If  I were  selling  your  sons  and  your  daughters 
bread  with  one  hand,  and  double  portions  of  poison 
with  the  other,  you  would  have  a poor  opinion  of  my 
goodness — the  rumseller,  however,  sells  you  no  bread  at 
all,  but  poison  and  only  poison.” 

The  thing  was  becoming  more  reasonable,  and  even 
those  who  were  somewhat  sceptical,  in  reference  to 
the  proposition  at  first,  when  they  saw  the  illustration, 
said  to  themselves,  “ I guess  he  is  about  right.” 

“ Never  fear,”  said  an  old  man,  audibly,  in  answer 
to  some  doubtings  which  he  had  overheard,  u he  is  no 
fool ; he  know’d  every  word  he  was  going  to  say  for 
this  week  past.” 

When  it  seemed  to  the  speaker  that  what  he  had 
said  had  been  digested — and  this  he  understood  by 
the  expression  of  their  countenances,  in  which  he 
could  read  their  hearts — for  he  had  spoken  too  often 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING. — ITS  RESULTS.  169 


to  juries  to  be  out  of  tune  or  out  of  time  with  any- 
thing by  which  he  wished  to  accomplish  an  end — he 
said, — 

“The  rumseller  has  no  more  right,  natural , acquir- 
ed, or  vested,  to  engage  in  measuring  out  ardent  spirits 
to  a human  being,  than  he  has  a right  to  open  a shop 
for  the  sale  of  arsenic ; for  although  the  latter  acts 
quicker  than  the  former,  still  its  effects  are  none  the 
more  certain  or  fatal.” 

“ I’ll  tell  ye  he’s  right,  John,”  said  an  old  lady  who 
was  sitting  by  her  husband,  who  was  a friend  of  the 
rumsellers — “jist  wait  till  he  gets  to  the  point,  and 
puts  the  saddle  on!” 

“ You  are  all  acquainted  with  George  Handy,”  said 
the  speaker,  “ you  see  him  in  your  streets  every  day 
— without  character,  the  victim  of  insanity!  The  pa- 
rents of  George  Handy  were  to  my  knowledge 
amongst  the  most  respectable  of  your  qommunity, 
and  George  himself  started  in  the  world  with  as  good 
prospects,  and  as  fair  a character,  as  any  young  man 
could  wish.  He  is  yet  young  in  years,  but  an  old 
man  in  everything  ^se  ! Where  is  his  wife  ? Where 
is  the  heritage  that  should  have  been  the  portion  of 
his  lovely  daughter?  Did  the  assassin,  under  the 
cover  of  a dark  night,  as  he  was  on  his  way  to  his 
wife  and  child,  plunge  the  dagger  into  his  heart?  Oh 
no ! for  compared  with  the  truth,  this  would  have 

been  merciful,  for  it  would  have  left  competency  and 
H 


170 


DICK  WILSON. 


reputation  to  those  who  survived  him.  I say  merci- 
ful, when  compared  with  the  lingering  tortures  which 
was  perpetrated  upon  his  entire  manhood  by  the  rum- 
seller’s  hands.  To  his  bar,  and  I will  mention  the 
name,  I mean  Smith’s  rummery,  he  came,  and  came 
again,  and  at  each  coming,  while  his  property  and  his 
character  were  being  filched  from  him,  he  in  return 
received  the  lingering  poison — the  warranty  of  dis- 
grace ! Am  I right  ?” 

“ Oh  ! yes,”  saij  an  old  man,  “ fifty  murders  could 
not  have  killed  poor  George  as  dead  as  he  is  to-day.” 
“Ah!  John,”  said  the  old  lady,  “I  told  you  to 
wait  until  he  got  the  saddle  on.  What  do  you  think 
now  ?” 

♦ 

“I  guess  he  is  right,  Jinny — Smith  is  a.  bad  man, 
and  I guess  it  would  be  better  if  the  law  would  license 
him  to  sell  poison , and  take  away  his  whiskey  from 
him.  I don’t  believe  he  would  do  as  much  harm.” 
After  the  usual  interval  for  digestion  had  been 
given,  with  a great  effort  he  grasped  the  foundations 
and  the  climax,  and  shaking  them  in  a manner  that 
was  terrifying  to  some,  he  said, — 

“ Those  who  are  aiding  and  abetting  the  rumseller 
in  this  business,  are  no  better  than  he  is,  and  I will 
add,  that  in  my  estimation  they  are  worse  /” 

And  this,  instead  of  following  with  a continuation 
of  his  speech,  as  he  had  done  before,  he  followed  with 
a pause,  in  which  he  seemed  to  be  reading  the  hearts 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING. — ITS  RESULTS.  171 

of  some  in  the  assembly  who  were  not  duly  sincere , 
and  whose  marks  and  scratches  it  would  not  have  been 
difficult  for  a rumseller  to  have  appended  to  bis  ap- 
plication for  license — setting  him  forth  to  be  a man 
famed  far  and  wide  for  temperance  and  sobriety  ! 

“I  ain’t  the  rumseller’s  friend,”  said  one  who 
thought  the  eye  of  the  lawyer  was  in  his  heart,  look- 
ing up  its  character — -“It’s  true  I did  sign  Smith’s  pe- 
tition the  last  time,  but  I tell  you  I don’t  do  that 
mean  trick  any  more.” 

The  speaker  was  a good  deal  circumscribed  by  the 
time  in  which  he  was  speaking,  and  concluded  thus : 
“Who  sign  those  applications  for  license?  They 
are  the  rumseller’s  abettors ! Who  are  willing  to  apol- 
ogize for  the  wrongs  which  he  is  entailing  upon  hu- 
manity ? They  are  his  friends  and  upholders ! Who 
look  on  unconcernedly,  when  he  is  trying  to  trap  a 
human  being?  They  are  his  friends — in  them  he 
lives,  moves,  and  has  his  being.” 

If  that  speech  had  been  made  in  these  days  it  would 
have  been  moddled  and  modulated*  to  suit  the  times, 
and  he  would  no  doubt  have  said : Who  is  opposed 

to  the  1 Maine  law’  ? Who  will  plead  for  intemper- 
ance ? Who  is  in  favor  of  rum  legislation  ? These 
are  they  who  give  aid  and  comfort  to  the  rumseller, 
and  inflict  upon  society  the  bitterest  wrong. 

After  he  had  succeeded  in  making  every  one  be- 
lieve that  everything  he  had  said  was  true,  he  left 


172 


DICK  WILSON*. 


the  stand,  and  was  succeeded  by  Mr.  S in  a 

style  which  although  it  had  not  all  the  vigor,  yet  it 
had  all  the  truthfulness  of  the  one  which  had  just  pre- 
ceded it. 

After  running  over  many  of  the  points  at  which  the 
first  speaker  had  only  glanced,  and  presenting  them 
in  a very  clear  light,  he  entered  a little  into  the  private 
rum  traffic  of  the  village,  by  persons  who  would  have 
been  ashamed  to  be  called  rumsellers ; and  yet  in  fact 
they  were,  and  are  doing  a great  deal  of  injury  by  it. 
He  said  it  was  not  only  at  the  hands  of  the  profession- 
al rumsellers  of  the  village  that  the  community,  in 
every  sense,  were  suffering,  but  that  even  merchants, 
for  the  sake  of  adding  ‘ ill  gotten  gaivt  to  their  treas- 
ure, had,  to  some  extent,  enlisted  in  the  business,  and 
if  they  did  not  sell  it  by  drams  they  sold  it  by  quarts, 
gallons  and  barrels  ; and  that  it  was  carried  home  to 
gratify  the  perverted  appetites  of  those  who  loved  it, 
and  to  form  in  the  young  a taste  for  that,  the  use  of 
which  will  but  destroy.  These  semi-grog  shops , he 
thought  had  a very  ruinous  tendency  in  whatever 
light  they  might  be  regarded,  and  that  they  ought  to 
be  included  in  the  system,  and  to  be  held  responsible 
for  the  consequences. 

After  the  business  was  all  over,  the  people  depart- 
ed quietly,  having  heard  more  truth,  and  having  en- 
joyed themselves  better,  than  they  had  ever  done  at 
a temperance  meeting  before. 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING. — ITS  RESULTS.  173 

The  street  was  perfectly  clear.  The  rumsellers — 
there  was  not  one  to  be  seen.  Some  persons  did  think 
that  they  were  making  their  observations  from  loop- 
holes in  their  houses,  and  that  probably  they  were  try- 
ing to  hunt  up  something  which  might  give  their 
meeting  on  the  morrow  a sprinkling  of  decency.  In 
the  evening  the  street  was  filled  again  with  them  and 
their  friends,  looking  up  the  elements  of  the  coming 
meeting. 

It  was  pretty  well  noised  abroad  that  on  account  of 

their  failure  to  get  any  other  person,  Judge  L had 

consented  to  make  a speech,  and  this  was  quite  a cu- 
riosity in  itself,  and  would  be  likely  to  collect  a curi- 
ous crowd  of  spectators,  and  amongst  them,  many 
who  would  not  like  to  be  considered  amongst  the 
rumseller’s  friends  ; and,  above  all  the  rest,  though  it 
was  to  be  kept  a secret,  the  lawyer  made  up  his  mind 
to  stay  too,  and  hear  what  the  Judge  might  have  to 
say  on  the  occasion. 

Dick  Wilson  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  go 
too,  and  take  with  him,  if  he  could  persuade  her  to  go, 
Miss  Handy.  He  called  at  Mr.  Shepard’s,  and  as 
soon  as  a convenient  opportunity  offered,  he  asked 
her  if  she  would  be  willing  to  go  to  that  meeting. 

After  a moment’s  hesitation  she  said,  “Mr.  Wilson, 
how  can  I go  there  ? These  are  the  people  who  have 
robbed  me  of  father  and  mother,  and  who  have  thrown 
me  upon  the  charity  of  this  good  family ; and  now 


174 


DICK  WILSOK. 


they  are  laying  their  plans  to  practice  the  same  cru- 
elty upon  others  I” 

“You  will  not  be  regarded  as  taking  part  with 
them,  Miss  Handy,”  said  Hick ; “ and  if  I thought  so, 
I am  sure  I would  not  go  myself.  For,  so  far  as  these 
people  have  given  me  reason  to  have  an  opinion  of 
them,  my  opinion  would  hardly  be  more  flattering  to 
them  than  your  own  ; and  while  my  reasons  for  think- 
ing meanly  of  them  are  not  resting  upon  a foundation 
so  fearful  as  yours,  yet  God  knows  I have  no  reason  to 
think  well  of  them.  They  left  me  a little,  but  I am 
not  indebted  to  them  for  it ; they  took  all  that  they 
could,  and  the  law  measured  it  out  to  them — more  I 
think  than  was  meet  or  merciful.” 

“Mr.  Wilson,  they  have  wounded  me  deeper  than 
a stranger’s  heart  can  ever  know.  My  poor  mother’s 
heart  was  broken  into  atoms  by  these  men,  and  her 
life  went  out  amidst  the  wild  dreams  of  insanity ! 
And  my  father — I meet  him  almost  daily.  I try  to 
get  from  him  a single  look  of  recognition,  but  I can- 
not— -he  does  not  know  me.  I am  as  a stranger  to  the 
one  who,  but  for  the  rumseller,  would  have  been  the 
protector  of  my  youth.  I am  alone  in  this  world  now, 
so  far  as  the  ties  of  kindred  are  concerned;  and  at  the 
door  of  the  rumseller  I lay  this  charge  of  fearful  rob- 
bery, knowing  that  he  must  account  for  it  to  God ! No, 
No ! I cannot  go  I” 


CHAPTER  X. 


RUMMIES  IN  COUNCIL. — THEIR  DOINGS. 

u Should  he,  when  he  pleases,  and  on  whom  he  will, 

Wage  war,  with  any  or  with  no  pretence 
Of  provocation  given,  or  wrong  sustained, 

And  force  the  beggarly  last  doit  by  means 
That  his  own  humor  dictates,  from  the  clutch 
Of  Poverty ; that  thus  he  may  secure 
His  thousands,  weary  of  penurious  life, 

4A.  splendid  opportunity  to  die  ?” 

The  day  which  was  to  signalize  the  triumph  of  the 
rumsellers  at  B , at  last  arrived* 

This  was  to  be  a mighty  affair ! It  was  to  give  a 
death  thrust  to  the  temperance  reform  in  that  village, 
and  its  friends  would  then  look  on,  and  smile  to  see  it 
die  ! On  the  preceding  evening,  when  the  sweeping 
propositions  of  the  “big  lawyer ” were  generally  known 
to  the  rumsellers,  they  were  filled  with  fire  and  fury, 
and  determined  to  deluge  the  place  with  rum.  They 
happened  to  meet  under  the  awning  of  a miserable 
grocery  compared  with  the  keeper  of  which  even 
Smith  was  a prince , and  there  they  had  it  in  a manner 
which,  to  relate,  would  be  offensive  to  the  ear  of  de- 
cency— and  we  will  pass  it. 

On  the  same  evening,  in  another  place,  another 


170 


DICK  WILSON. 


company  were  gathered  to  consult  on  the  best  means 
to  be  used  to  give  the  meeting  an  appearance  which 
would  not  frighten  their  friends,  who  might  come  from 
a distance  to  aid  them  in  striking  their  terrible  blow. 
This  company  was  small  and  noiseless,  when  compared 
with  that  under  the  awning.  It  comprised  Judge 

L and  the  superannuated  Stevens,  the  file-leaders 

of  the  whole  matter.  Said  the  Judge,  as  he  removed 
from  his  lips  his  glass  of  brandy, — 

“It  would  be  bad  for  us  if  the  time  should  ever 
come  when  this  delicious  stuff  should  be  taken  from 
us.” 

“ Yes,”  said  Stevens,  sorrowfully,  “ I don’t  want  to 
live  to  see  that  time,  for  I couldn’t  live  long  after  it.” 

“ The  rumselling  business,”  said  Judge  L , “ is 

a fine  business  in  this  village.  I suppose  one  half  of 
the  money  in  the  township  passes  through  their 
hands.” 

“Yes,  fully  that  much ; and  it  takes  nearly  the 
other  half  to  pay  contingent  expenses.”  - 

“If  you  value  your  rum,  Stevens,  you  musn’t 
whisper  such  a thing  as  that  where  any  of  our  ene- 
mies can  get  hold  of  it,”  replied  the  Judge.  “But, 
come,  it  isn’t  our  business  to  furnish  arguments  for 
these  people.  Let  them  take  e-are  of  themselves.  We 
must  prepare  for  to-morrow.  Bo  you  know  if  that 
big  lawyer  has  gone  ?” 

“ Yes,  he  has,”  replied  Stevens ; “ I saw  him  da*h- 


EUMMIES  IN  COUNCIL. 


177 


ing  over  the  hill  this  evening.  He  wouldn’t  venture 
to  show  himself  here  to-morrow.  If  he  did,  he  would 
be  carried  on  a rail.” 

“Good  Heavens!”  said  the  Judge,  “I  am  glad  to 
hear  that.  You’ll  hear  a speech  from  me  to-morrow 
that  will  knock  the  brains  out  of  everything  he  said. 
I’ve  got  the  legal  and  constitutional  side  of  this  ques- 
tion, and  I tell  you,  I’ll  make  the  fur  fly.  Ha ! ha  ! 
indeed ! That  impertinent  scoundrel  to  come  here  and 
say  that  decent  men,  because  they  are  the  friends  of 
the  rumsellers,  are  aiding  and  abetting  in  murder! 
I’ll  show  him  which  side  of  the  bread  is  buttered ! 
Stevens,  we  musn’t  make  any  calculation  that  we  are 
going  to  have  this  meeting  to  ourselves  ; for  this  will 
not  be  the  case.  I met  Hick  Wilson,  and  Watson, 

and  Shepard,  and  Squire  B , this  evening,  and 

every  one  of  them  looked  as  if  they  had  the  devil  in 
their  eyes.  They  are  up  to  something,  and  we  had 
better  be  prepared  for  it.  George  Handy  will  be 
there.  He  never  misses  these  kinds  of  gatherings, 
and  if  he  should  appear  there  to-morrow  as  I saw  him 
in  the  street  to-day,  he  would  prejudice  our  cause 
very  much.  I tell  you  what  I will  do  : I will  hunt 
up  a suit  of  my  old  clothes,  if  you  will  find  a boy  to 
carry  them  up  to  the  poor-house  in  the  morning.” 

“ Your  clothes  are  too  big  for  him,  Judge,”  said 
Stevens,  “ and  everybody  will  know  them.” 

“ That  is  just  what  I want,”  said  the  Judge,  “ and 


178 


DICK  WILSON. 


this  very  thing  will  give  point  to  my  speech.  I will 
send  a note  to  the  steward  to  compel  him  to  put  them 
on.” 

“ I’ll  do  it,”  said  Stevens,  triumphantly. 

“Now,”  said  the  Judge,  “there  is  one  thing  yet 
which  is  of  more  consequence  to  us  than  George 
Handy.  Mrs.  Armstrong,  you  know,  is  very  poor, 
and  is  to  a great  extent  supported  by  the  charity  of 
our  enemies.  Now  can’t  we  do  something  for  her  that 
can  be  pretty  well  noised  abroad  before  to-morrow 
noon  ?” 

“Yes,  we  can  so,”  said  Stevens,  with  a very  charita- 
ble look.  “ I will  give  the  half  towards  buying  her  a 
calico  dress,  if  you  will  give  the  other  half.” 

“Come,  come,  Stevens,”  said  the  Judge,  “on  this 
occasion  you  will  have  to  go  further  into  your  gener- 
osity than  that.  Now,  I’ll  tell  you  what  I will  do.  I 
have  got  a cow  that  is  worth  twenty-five  dollars  in  any 
man’s  money,  and  if  you  will  insure  me  two-thirds  of 
that  amount,  I will  send  her  down  to  Mrs.  Armstrong 
in  the  morning,  and  I will  send  a bag  of  bran  into  the 
bargain.” 

“ She  must  be  a good  cow,”  said  Stevens. 

“ There  never  was  a better  one,”  continued  the  Judge, 
“and  you  can  well  afford  to  give  the  half  yourself. 
You  know  where  that  woman’s  property  went.” 

“ Well,  Judge,”  said  Stevens,,  “it’s  a devil  of  a lift ; 
but  I suppose  we  must  stand  it.  I’ll  agree  to  raise  all 


rummies  in  council. 


179 


I can  out  of  Smith  and  Fritz  and  the  rest  of  them ; 
and  I’ll  call  on  some  of  the  store-keepers  too:  they 
ought  to  aid ; and  then  I’ll  pay  the  balance  myself. 
But  if  it  wasn’t  for  the  meeting,  I wouldn’t  give  one 
cent !” 

About  nine  o’clock  in  the  morning  everybody  in 

the  village  knew  that  Judge  L had  given  Mrs. 

Armstrong  a cow,  and,  as  might  be  expected,  it  was 
a matter  of  much  curiosity  to  many. 

As  the  hour  of  the  meeting  drew  on,  troops  of  the 
rumsellers’  friends  were  seen  crowding  into  the  vil- 
lage, and,  taken  all  together,  they  were  a very  fair  re- 
presentation of  the  trade.  The  quarters  of  the  differ- 
ent rumsellers  of  the  place  were  filled  to  overflowing, 
and  a majority  of  them  were  in  the  process  of  being 
filled  with  rum.  Crowds  of  boys  were  in  the  streets, 
admiring  the  appearance  and  occasionally  the  swag- 
gering dexterity  of  the  jolly  host. 

A new  object  of  attraction  suddenly  arrested  the 
attention  of  the  boys.  It  was  George  Handy,  array- 
ed in  Judge  L — — *’s  old  broadcloth.  The  poor  fel- 
low looked  unusually  bright  this  morning,  and  the 
cheerlessness  of  insanity  seemed  to  have  partially 
passed  away.  He  halted  in  front  of  Smith’s  door, 
where  the  cruelty  of  the  boys,  encouraged  by  the 
grimaces  of  the  bystanders,  most  of  whom  were  pass- 
ing through  the  very  same  process  through  which 
poor  George  had  passed,  and  which  had  made  him 


180 


DICK  WILSON. 


what  he  was,  soon  set  George  in  a rage.  Smith  came 
to  the  door,  and  as  he  was  attempting  to  lay  violent 
hands  on  the  poor  fellow,  George,  by  what  some 
would  call  a luckless  blow , left  him  sprawling  in  the 
gutter  beside  him,  which  was  a very  fit  place  for  him. 

The  bell  of  the  old  court-house,  whose  walls  were 
accustomed  to  the  recital  of  events  connected  with  the 
rum  traffic,  at  last  told  the  community  that  the  mag- 
nificent spectacle  was  about  to  concentrate  in  the 
court-room.  The  room  was  soon  filled,  so  that  not 
another  one  could  get  in.  Those  who  were  merely 
spectators,  who  had  gone  early  and  without  any  pre- 
concerted plan,  were  seated  on  one  side  of  the  house, 
and  that  side  contained  the  well-developed  propor- 
tions of  the  “big  lawyer.”  The  other  side  contained 
the  bone  and  sinew  of  the  rumsellers’  forces  in  that  re- 
gion, and  amongst  them,  very  conspicuously,  sat 
George  Handy,  the  man  whom  they  had  so  cruelly 
cursed.  The  contrast  between  the  two  sides  of  the 
house  was  perfect,  and  some  one,  on  the  side  of  the 
spectators,  was  heard  to  say — “ Deliver  me  from  this 
body  of  death  /”  The  bar  oh  this  occasion  was  crowd- 
ed with  rum-manufacturers  and  rumsellers,  and  con- 
stituted the  pageant  toward  which  all  eyes  were 
directed. 

After  a few  moments,  at  the  instance  of  Judge 

L , who  had  not  noticed  that  lawyer  B was 

in  the  assembly,  an  old  and,  as  the  Judge  said,  a 


RUMMIES  IN  COUNCIL. 


181 


very  respectable  manufacturer  of  rum,  was  called  to  the 
chair ; and  in  answer  to  the  question  as  to  where  the 
presiding  officer  should  sit,  George  Handy  called  out 
— “ In  the  prisoner's  box!”  After  this  officer  had 
found  a place  where  his  dignity  might  repose,  a mo- 
tion was  again  made  by  Stevens  that  Richard  Wilson, 
Esquire,  should  be  called  on  to  act  as  secretary,  and 
in  a moment,  Smith,  looking  out  from  the  black, 
swollen  eye  which  George’s  blow  had  given,  said — 

'£  I second  the  motion.” 

In  an  instant  Dick  was  on  his  feet,  and  many  of 
them,  thinking  that  he  was  eager  to  jump  at  the  honor 
tendered  him,  began  to  cheer  him.  As  soon  as  this 
mark  of  respect  was  hushed,  he  said : 

“ Gentlemen,  I gave  you  notice  night  before  last, 
that  you  could  expect  no  assistance  from  me.” 

Then  the  difficulty  was  to  find  a man  whose  hand 
was  steady  enough  to  make  out  an  intelligible  copy 
of  their  proceedings  for  the  printer ; for  they  intend- 
ed that  the  whole  world  should  be  filled  with  the  fame 
of  that  jubilee. 

This  meeting  was  almost  the  counterpart  of  one 
held  for  the  same  purpose  in  the  city  of  New  York, 
less  than  a year  since,  and  there  was  about  the  same 
difficulty  in  getting  a respectable  organization  in  the 

one  case  as  in  the  other.  Of  this  meeting  at  B , 

however,  it  was  never  said,  when  their  printed  pro- 
ceedings appeared,  that  they  had  many  names  which 


182 


DICK  WILSON. 


belonged  to  no  one  in  particular.  In  most  of  their 
features  these  two  meetings  are  so  nearly  allied,  that 
one  familiar  with  the  meeting  at  B — — would  say, 
that  the  rumsellers  in  v Gotham  must  have  had  a copy 
of  its  proceedings,  and  that  they  only  departed  from 
the  form  when  they  were  using  names  to  their  pub- 
lished proceedings. 

The  cow  story  had  been  heard  by  all  who  were  in 
the  court-house,  and  George  Handy,  in  the  Judge’s 
cloth,  was  there  to  speak  and  answer  questions  for 
himself.  Judge  L was  called  on,  and  imme- 

diately spread  himself,  preparatory  to  his  speech ; and 
without  looking  to  see  whether  any  but  the  jury  were 
there,  he  commenced,  by  saying : 

“ Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I regret  the  necessity  which 
has  called  me  to  appear  before  you  at  this  time,  for 
nothing  but  imperative  necessity  could  have  induced 
me  to  do  so.  Innovations  in  religion,  morals  and  law, 
are  everywhere  to  be  reprobated,  and  good  citizens 
should  set  their  faces  against  them.  Innovations  on 
the  natural  rights  of  individuals  and  constitutional  in- 
fractions are  especially  to  be  deprecated ; and  it  is  to 
consider  innovation  in  reference  to  these  two  last 
named  points  that  we  are  met  here  at  this  time. 

“The  liquor  traffic,  at  this  day,  seems  to  be  some- 
thing against  which  a certain  portion  of  the  commu- 
nity are  conspiring  and  arraying  themselves,  with 
malice  afore  thought , which  is  the  evidence  of  deprav- 


RUMMIES  IN  COUNCIL. 


183 


ed  mind,  regardless  of  the  natural,  and  I may  add, 
constitutional  rights  of  others.  Rights,  my  friends, 
are  everlasting  things  ! Law  is  the  defence  of  the  weak 
against  the  strong,  and  lest  it  should  be  made  worse, 
ought  to  abide  as  it  is,  and  no  one  ought  to  be  guilty 
of  the  heinous  crime  of  interfering  with  constitutions ! 
God  save  the  commonwealth  from  those  wolves  who  would 
devour  it  /” 

Here  Smith  gave  a hearty  cheer. 

“ Gentlemen,  let  me  direct  your  attention  to  my 
venerable  friend,  the  president  of  this  assembly.  Look 
at  him  ! His  locks  are  whitened  now  by  the  frosts  of 
many  years ; and  the  fruit  which  the  grave  is  claim- 
ing is  nearly  ripe,  and  ready  to  fall.  He  came  into 
this  community  poor,  when  most  of  you  were  children. 
He  did  not  remain  poor.  His  natural  energy  and  no- 
ble-heartedness  moved  him  forward.  In  a few  years 
after,  he  established  a distillery  in  your  vicinity,  and 
while  he  has  enriched  himself,  he  has  also  helped  to 
enrich  the  county.  Who  purchased  your  barley,  your 
rye  and  corn  ? Where  were  you  always  sure  to  find 
a market  for  what  you  had  to  spare  ? Who  gave  you 
the  means  by  which  you  were  enabled  to  clbthe  and 
educate  your  children  ? Gentlemen,  a grateful  heart 
is  pleasing  to  God.  Remember  that,  and  remember 
too,  that  ingratitude  always  meets  its  reward.  Then 
I would  have  you  use  your  influence  to  spare  the  feel- 
ings of  that  old  man,  who  is  left  to  us  from  the  past, 


184 


DICK  WILSON. 


and  who.  is  soon  to  go  the  way  of  all  flesh,  and  be 
seen  no  more  in  your  community. 

“I  said,  gentlemen,  that  natural  rights  were  ever- 
lasting— I believe  the  technical  term  is  inalienable — 
and  that  is  stranger  yet.  A natural  right  means  that 
which  an  individual  has  a right  to  do,  under  all  cir- 
cumstances, independent  of  any  thing  or  person  to  the 
contrary  notwithstanding  ! Now,  on  this  principle — 
for  you  cannot  help  but  see  how  broad  it  is — my 
friend  in  the  chair  has  right  enough  and  room  enough  to 
carry  on  his  business  to  any  extent  that  he  pleases, 
and  what  is  right  for  him  is  right  for  all. 

“ And  now,  gentlemen,  for  the  retailers  of  our  drams 
I claim  the  same  privileges,  and  I insist  that  they  are 
entitled  to  them  ! What ! When  a gentleman  enters 
their  house  and  calls  for  a meal  of  victuals,  is  he  to 
be  refused?  Is  he  to  be  told,  You  can’t  be  accommo- 
dated, sir  ? Then  take  away  his  privilege  to  sell  spir- 
its, and  this  is  the  very  thing  you  must  expect — the 
very  thing  you  will  meet;  and  hungry  as  you  may 
be,  you  can  have  nothing ! Why,  gentlemen,  tavern- 
keeping would  not  be  worth  a pin,  if  the  right  to  sell 
liquor  were  taken  away,  and  the  lest  houses  in  the 
land  would  close  their  doors  ; then  I guess  you  would 
see,  to  your  cost  and  sorrow  too,  what  kind  of  enter- 
tainment these  constitutional  vampyres  would  give  you. 

“I  am  advised,  gentlemen,  that  a travelling  lecturer, 
without  either  character  or  talents,  who  entertained  a 


KUMMIES  IN  COUNCIL. 


185 


few  people  for  half  an  hour,  yesterday,  at  the  church, 
said,  in  the  course  of  his  incoherent  remarks,  that  we 
have  no  right  to  sell  rum ; that  it  was  even  worse 
than  assassination,  and  that  they  had  as  good  a right 
to  sell  poison , knowing  it  to  be  intended  for  self-de- 
struction. And  further,  that  those  who  favored  it — 
and  I suppose  he  ’meant  myself — were  no  better  than 
the  rumsellers ! I wish  I had  been  there.  I would 
have  told  him  that  rumsellers  could  make  the  widow’s 
heart  glad,  and  that  they  and  their  friends  could  give 
to  those  whom  Providence  had  afflicted — as  in  the  per- 
son of  George  Handy — a respectable  appearance.  Yet 
we  are  told  they  are  bad  men  ! and  I am  a bad  man  ! 
But  for  what,  unless  it  be  for  our  kindness  to  the 
poor,  and  our  money  ?” 

Many  persons  were  remarking  very  unusual  excite- 
ment in  the  countenance  of  George  Handy.  It  seem- 
ed as  if  reason  was  struggling  with  insanity  for  its 
old  habitation.  The  evidence  of  this  excitement  be- 
came more  and  more  perceptible  as  the  Judge  pro- 
ceeded ; and  just  as  he  uttered  the  words,  “ Smith  is 
not  chargeable  with  George  Handy’s  misfortunes,” 
George  rose,  and,  with  an  effort  in  which  he  seemed 
struggling  to  reclaim  reason,  he  said, — 

“Am  I in  hell?  If  not,  where  am  I?  Judge 

L ,”  he  continued,  11  do  not  criminate  Providence  ! 

Do  not  say  that  Smith’s  mercy  was  more  than  the 
mercy  of  God  ! — -for  it  is  a lie , and  you  know  it.  It  is 


186 


DICK  WILSON. 


true  that  I am  dressed  in  your  cast-off  clothes ; but 
still,  with  the  little  light  which  the  murderous  spirit 
of  Smith  has  left  me,  I will  bear  witness  against  every 
word  you  have  said.  I kn6w  that  it  is  false  ! I have 
proved  that  it  is  false ; and  while  you-  are  standing 
here  to  defend  the  rumseller,  you  are  worse  than  he  is. 
I will  soon  be  where  you  cannot  see  me,  but  while  I 
am  able  I will  daily  walk  these  streets,  to  torment 
yourself  and  your  elan,  and  warn  others  against  your 
wickedness.” 

Here  poor  George,  with  a convulsive  shudder,  sank 
again  into  his  seat.  Every  one  was  surprised,  for  no 
one  in  several  years  had  heard  from  him  a coherent 
sentence. 

“ This,”  said  the  Judge,  “ is  the  doings  of  that  fel- 
low who  w~as  here  yesterday.  Why,  they  are  even 
making  madness  itself  more  mad !” 

“ Judge  L ,”  said  the  lawyer,  who  was  not  able 

to  stand  this  any  longer,  “ whence  did  you  derive 
your  legal  opinions  ?” 

“None  of  your  business,”  said  he,  before  he  had 
time  to  see  from  whose  mouth*  the  question  had  come. 
Turning  his  head,  and  seeing  the  commanding  figure 
of  the  lawyer,  drawn  up  to  its  fall  length,  he  quailed 
for  a moment,  and  then  said,  “ Why  did  you  ask  me 
that  question  ?” 

“ Because  I thought  you  might  recover  damages,” 
said  the  lawyer. 


RUMMIES  IN  COUNCIL.  187 

“ What  do  you  mean,”  said  the  Judge,  a good  deal 
confounded. 

“ I mean  that  the  man  who  taught  you  the  defini 
tion  and  principles  of  law  which  you  have  advanced, 
ought  to  be  indicted  for  ignorance,  and  yourself  ought 
to  be  in  the  same  condemnation.  You  have  taken 
the  liberty  to  be  very  ungentlemanly  towards  myself, 
when  you  thought  I was  not  present.  I am  here,  and 
I will  try  to  hear  you  to  the  end — go  on,  Judge.” 

This  was  the  winding  up  of  the  Judge’s  speech. 
For  the  life  of  him.  although  he  labored  excessively, 
he  couldn’t  get  out  another  word.  He  knew  that 
Dick’s  preceptor,  and  others  of  equal  intelligence  were 
present,  who  could  detect  his  mingling  of  ignorance 
and  duplicity,  but  for  these  he  did  not  .care.  But 
when  called  to  account  by  the  “big  lawyer,”  disap- 
pointment and  anger  drove  him  to  his  seat. 

Here  the  very  venerable  chairman — the  man  who 
was  poor  and  had  become  rich — the  man  whose  head 
was  white  for  the  harvest  of  death — the  man  who  had 
been  such  a signal  blessing  to  that  community — the 
man  who  would  soon  be  seen  no  more  amongst  them 
— this  very  venerable  man  rose  and  said, — 

“ This  is  what  I expected — nothing  better  could  be 
expected.  Here  the  judge  of  the  court  has  been  in- 
terrupted while  explaining  law  to  his  friends,  and  he 
can’t  go  on  at  all.  These  are  gentlemen  indeed ! It 
would  be  a favor  if  all  who  are  in  the  house,  and  who 


188 


DICK  WILSON. 


ain’t  with,  us , would  leave,”  and  down  the  old  man  * 
went  into  his  chair. 

“We  will  accommodate  you,”  said  the  lawyer, 

“ and  you  will  be  welcome  to  what  is  left.” 

There  was  a demonstration  at  once  towards  the 
door,  and  the  venerable  president,  fearing  that  himself 
and  the  Judge,  who  was  yet  choking  on  his  speech, 
were  to  be  left  alone,  called  out,  saying,  “I  did  not 
mean  that  all  should  go — the  meeting  is  not  closed.” 
This,  however,  did  not  stop  those  who  were  under 
way ; and  very  soon  everything  which  would  have 
been  desirable  in  almost  any  other  place  than  a rum 
meeting,  was  safely  out  of  the  house ; and  everything 
that  was  left,  except  in  number,  was,  for  all  the  world, 
a fac  simile  of  its  great  antitype  in  Gotham ; and  it 
could  not  well  have  been  otherwise,  for  the  cry  of 
both  was,  u give  me  rum  or  I die .” 

It  would  be  vain  to  attempt  to  describe  the  appear- 
ance of  what  was  left  in  the  house.  u Now,”  said 

Judge  L , “ we  are  alone,  and  we  will  have  leave 

to  transact  our  business  in  a peaceable  and  orderly 
manner,  as  good  citizens  should  do.” 

“ Ah!”  said  Stevens,  “the  cow  didn’t  do  us  much 
good,” — “ Mr.  George  Handy,  either,”  said  the  Judge  ; 
and  Smith  declared  he  wouldn’t  pay  one  cent  towards 
the  cow,  and  that  after  that,  drunkard’s  widows  might 
take  care  of  themselves,  for  all  that  he  wordd  do  to 
help  them.” 


RUMMIES  IN  COUNCIL. 


189 


Tlie  venerable  distiller  rose  again,  and  began  to  set 
forth  in  as  plaintive  a style  as  lie  could  command,  the 
great  service  which  he  had  rendered  to  that  commu- 
nity, and  then  dwelt  at  some  length  on  the  ingratitude 
of  a large  portion  of  those  who,  now  in  his  old  age, 
had  turned  against  him,  and  were  for  driving  him  out 
of  his  stewardship. 

The  poor  old  man  seemed  to  think  that  Judge 

L ’s  definition  of  natural  rights  was  true  to  the 

very  letter;  and  that  God  had  given  to  him  a special 
right  to  entail  misery  upon  his  creatures  until  his  last 
breath. 

As  might  be  expected,  when  the  restraint  of  a de- 
cent audience  had  been  removed,  confusion  soon  in- 
troduced itself ; and  however  much  they  may  have 
intended  to  accomplish,  nothing  more  was  done,  and 
in  the  midst  of  angry  words  and  pugilistic  gesticula- 
tions, the  thirsty  crowd  retired  to  the  quarters  of  the 
different  rumsellers ; and  the  wrecks  of  this  splendid 
pageant  for  several  days  after,  were  visible  in  the  gut- 
ters of  B . 

The  views  then  entertained  by  this  old  man  of  his 
“ divine  right”  to  sell  rum,  still  exist  in  the  minds  of 
many  at  the  present  day ; and  the  idea  that  any  legal 
restraints  are  to  be  imposed  upon  the  business,  is 
looked  upon  by  them  as  the  most  odious  tyranny. 
Against  this  they  therefore  combine ; and  especially 
close  and  earnest  is  this  combination  against  the  only 


190 


DICK  WILSON. 


effectual  remedy  that  has  ever  been  suggested  for  the 
evils  of  rumselling — against  the  Maine  Law.  It  is — 
we  will  not  say  amusing — it  is  humiliating,  to  see  the 
candidate  for  official  place  quake  with  fear  before  the 
dreaded  influence  of  this  combination,  and  seek,  by 
every  means  in  his  power,  to  secure  it  in  his  behalf. 
Nay,  more  : to  see  grave  legislators,  when  called  upon 
to  vote  upon  the  question  of  enacting  the  Maine  Law, 
to  give  a faint  aye  or  nay,  and  to  attempt  to  pacify  the 
rum  interest  by  flimsy  apologies.  This,  however,  will 
never  satisfy  the  friends  of  the  law.  They  think  they 
see  in  this  what  has  often  been  vainly  sought  for  in 
various  other  ways — something  that  will  effectually  put 
an  end  to  the  traffic  in  rum,  and  of  course  remove  the 
temptations  which  are  now  enticing  the  young  at 
every  corner.  This  idea  is  possessing  the  public  mind 
with  the  earnestness  of  complete  conviction,  and  the 
happy  effects  of  the  Maine  Law,  wherever  it  has  been 
tried,  tend  forcibly  to  rivet  and  extend  this  conviction. 
It  is  believed,  therefore,  that  this  pervading  public 
sentiment  will  soon  be  crystalized  into  the  permanent 
form  of  efficient  public  law. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


THE  PARTY. — THE  SNARE. — THE  ESCAPE. 

“I  know  a breast  which  once  was  light, 

Whose  patient  sufferings  need  my  care ; 

I know  a heart  which  once  was  bright, 

But  drooping  hopes  have  nestled  there ; 

Then  while  tear-drops  nightly  steal 

From  wounded  hearts  that  I should  heal, 

Though  boon  companions  you  should  be, 

O ! comrades,  fill  no  glass  for  me !” 

In  the  breast  of  Dick  Wilson  one  peculiar,  lovely 
hope  rose  above  every  other,  and  melted  in  warm  and 
confiding  tenderness  amidst  the  still  dear  ruins  of  the 
wreck  which  he  was  endeavoring  to  raise.  On  no  oc- 
casion did  the  image  of  his  home  pass  entirely  from 
his  mind.  To  him  it  was  an  ever-abiding,  present  re- 
ality ; and  the  joys  of  the  stranger’s  heart  had  not  the 
mystic  power  to  drive  sadness  from  his. 

He  was  conscious  of  his  poverty,  and  he  knew  but 
too  well  that  others  must  be  equally  conscious  of  it. 
Dick’s  wardrobe  was  getting  scanty,  indeed  ; and  this 
was  all  the  more  annoying  from  the  fact  that  he  did 
not  know  how  it  was  to  be  replenished. 

Before  this  startling  reality  he  quailed,  as  he  was 
sitting  alone,  taking  a cautious  survey  of  his  worn 


192 


DICK  WILSON. 


garments,  and  seemingly  trying  to  ascertain  how  long 
they  would  probably  hold  together.  He  was  looking 
first  at  the  elbow  of  his  coat,  then  at  the  knees  of  his 
pantaloons,  then  at  his  hat  and  boots,  and  patched 
linen,  and  ejaculated,  “ Yes,  these  relics  of  better 
times  are  all  going  together — -whey  will  soon  be  done. 
I am  not  used  to  this,- — I have  given  away  better 
clothes  than  these,  often  ; and  I have  no  means  to  re- 
plenish them.  But  I am  glad  that  my  mother  and 
Eliza  do  not  know  it,  since  for  their  sakes  I would  be 
willing  to  be  even  more  stinted  than  I am  ; and  to  see 
them  smile  again  as  they  once  smiled,  before  the  rum- 
seller  came  to  our  Eden , I would  endure  anything  that 
was  tolerable.77 

In  the  midst  of  these  unpleasant  thoughts  the  stage- 
coach from  P drove  up  to  the  office  opposite  his 

window.  “ Ah  !”  said  he,  A I shall  perhaps  get  a let- 
ter from  mother  to-day,  and  if  I do  I shall  feel  much 
better.  If  it  were  not  for  such  letters,  I could  not 
keep  up  as  well  as  I do  ; but  when  I know  how  pa- 
tiently they  are  all  suffering,  I ought  not  to  repine.’7 

He  could  hear  from  his  place  all  the  noise  and  con- 
fusion which  usually  awaited  the  arrival  of  the  stage 

at  B , and  he  overheard  the  landlord  who  kept 

the  hotel,  saying,  “ This  trunk  is  for  Dick  Wilson,77 
and  in  the  next  breath  he  heard  the  surly  reply  of  a 
young  man  who  was  standi  ng  by,— 

“ Well,  the  Lord  knows  if  there  is  anything  in  it  in 


THE  PART  ¥• — SjtfAltE — ESCAPE. 


193 


the  shape  of  money  or  clothing,  it  will  be  a ‘ God- 
send’ to  him,  for  he  is  almost  naked.  Why,  he  hasn’t 
a thing  on  his  back  that  isn’t  thread-bare  ; and  if  he 
don’t  recruit  very  soon,  he  will  lose  all  influence  in 
this  community,  and  then  he’ll  be  as  good  as  dead.” 

Dick  heard  the  sharp  voice  of  Mr.  Jacobs  the  land- 
lord, quickly  replying  to  this  evidence  of  littleness,  by 
saying,— 

“ Well,  Horace,  the  Lord  knows  another  thing  just 
as  well  as  he  knows  that,  and  this  whole  community 
know  it,  and  you  seem  to  be  the  only  one  who  does 
not  know  it.  If  you  could  exchange  some  of  your 
fine  clothes  and  money  for  what  brains  Dick  Wilson 
could  spare,  and  still  be  rich , I tell  you  it  would  be  a 
precious  God-send  to  you ; but  your  case  is  hopeless  ! 
You  are  living  here  and  sporting  upon  money  which 
I am  told  has  been  acquired  in  every  way  but  an  hon- 
est one,  and  now  you  rise  up  and  lay  claim  to  censor - 
ship , and  talk  about  influence!  You  had  better  go 
down  to  the  1 Old  Stone  House,’  famed  all  over  the 
State  for  its  debauchery,  and  then  talk  about  influence 
as  it  was  about  twenty  years  ago ; and  Black  Jim, 
who  lives  there  now,  if  he  knew  the  whole  history, 
wouldn’t  go  partners  with  you  in  your  position  or  in- 
fluence. Dick  Wilson  is  moving  himself  forward  with 
commendable  energy,  in  despite  of  poverty,  to  make 
his  way  to  competency,  and  you  are  moving  towards 
the  poor  Arouse  ; and  that  is  the  appropriate  place  for 
I 13 


191 


PICK  TVILSOtf. 


you.  Your  influence  indeed ! Good  Heavens  ! what 
a precious  thing  it  must  be  in  your  estimation ! I 
would  just  as  soon  have  1 Black  Jim's'  influence  as 
yours,  for  it  is  really  greater,  and  will  be  more  endur- 
ing.” 

Of  this  conversation  Dick  had  not  lost  a single 
word ; and  he  knew  the  person  very  well  by  whom 
it  was  commenced,  so  that  such  expressions,  although 
not  intended  for  his  ears,  were  not  wholly  unantici 
pated  by  him. 

He  stepped  to  the  door  at  once  and  inquired  of  Mr. 
Jacobs,  who  was  still  standing  by  the  stage,  if  his 
name  had  not  been  mentioned. 

“ Yes,  Mr.  Wilson,”  said  Mr.  Jacobs,  his  face  slight- 
ly coloring  as  he  spoke,  “here  is  a trunk  for  you, 

from  P , and  I have  just  been  having  a word  with 

that  young  rowdy , who  is  marching  off,  in  reference 
to  it.” 

“Yes,”  said  Dick,  smiling  gratefully,  “I  heard  you, 
and  I guess  he  thought  you  severe.” 

“ I don’t  care  what  he  thought,  Mr.  Wilson,”  re- 
plied he,  “ such  good-for-nothing  fellows  deserve  se 
verity.” 

“ Well,”  said  Dick,  “ I thank  you — am  glad  I have 
found  that  fellow  out.” 

“ Yes,  Mr.  Wilson,  if  you  have  had  any  confidence 
in  him,  it  is  a good  thing  that  you  have  found  him 
out,  for  he  is  intemperate  in  his  habits  and  hypocriti- 


THE  PARTY — SHARE— ESCAPE. 


195 


cal  in  his  conduct.  Mr.  Wilson,  my  term  in  this  house 
expires  in  the  spring,  and  then  I am  going  to  look  out 
for  some  more  honorable  employment  than  selling 
rum.  I have  some  respect  for  myself — some  regard 
for  my  fellow  men,  and  more  than  all,  for  my  family ; 
and  I will  no  longer  compromise  these  interests  by  re- 
maining in  this  business.  Here  is  your  trunk,  Mr. 
Wilson,”  and  turning  to  a black  man  who  stood  be- 
side him,  he  said,  “ Here,  Sam,  take  this  trunk  to  Mr. 
Wilson’s  boarding-house  immediately.” 

Hick  thanked  him  kindly,  and  then  turned  into 
the  office,  preparatory  to  following  his  unknown  treas- 
ure. He  was  soon  ready,  and  just  as  it  was  placed 
upon  the  wheel-barrow,  he  passed  from  the  door  and 
kept  pace  with  it.  As  might  be  expected,  Dick’s  mind 
was  on  the  trunk,  and  everything  disconnected  with 
it  just  then  was  an  abstraction.  At  last  Sam,  puffing 
under  the  rays  of  a burning  sun,  said : 

“Massa  Wilson,  I guess  dis  yer  trunk  am  some- 
what full.  It’s  a mighty  good  load  for  one,  I tell  you. 
I tink  Missus  must  sent  you  lots  ob  money  dis  time, 
and  more  good  tings,  too.  My  gracious ! massa,  de 
sun  come  down  hot  on  dis  nigger’s  back — I tell  you, 
massa.  Mighty  rickety  wheel-barrow  dis  is!” 

Dick  understood  the  point  of  this  philosophizing, 
and  when  Sam  had  carried  the  trunk  into  his  room,  he 
handed  him  a quarter,  at  the  sight  of  which  Sam’s 
eyes  expanded  considerably,  and  he  said ; 


196 


DICK  WILSON. 


“God  bless  you,  Massa  Wilson.  Sam  remember 
you  for  dis  yer  kindness.  I wish,  massa,  you’d  git  a 
trunk  ebery  day.” 

Dick  had  to  break  the  lock,  and  this  he  was  not 
long  in  doing;  and  soon  the  contents  of  the  trunk 
were  before  him.  His  heart  was  glad  as  he  beheld  the 
elements  of  a princely  wardrobe,  in  his  own  quarters, 
and  himself  the  owner,  with  more  than  a sufficient 
sum  of  money  to  defray  all  the  expenses  necessary  to 
fit  it  to  his  person.  But  the  joy  was  only  momenta- 
ry ; for  it  was  interrupted  by  the  thought  that  the 
value  of  these  things  would  have  been  better  bestow- 
ed if  they  had  been  given  to  his  mother. 

“ This,”  said  he,  “if  it  had  been  given  in  some 
other  shape  to  my  mother  and  sister,  would  have 
been  better  bestowed,  and  although  my  wants  are 
pinching  enough,  still  I should  have  preferred  it.” 

While  such  reflections  as  these  were  passing  through 
his  mind,  his  eye  caught  sight  of  a slip  of  paper, 
which  he  thought  must  have  dropped  from  the  trunk, 
and  might  perhaps  be  an  explanation,  as  there  is 
never  anything  connected  with  the  charitable  gift 
which  is  unnecessary.  As  soon  as  he  opened  it — for 
it  proved  to  be  more  than  a slip — he  said,  in  delight : 

“From  Eliza!  Then  they  know  all  about  this. 
Let  me  read  it : 

“ £ Dear  Dick:  A very  kind  friend  has  sent  you 
this  handsome  present.  I am  not  at  liberty  to  men- 


THE  PARTY— SHARE— ESCAPE.  197 

tion  the  name,  as  I would  like  to  do ; but  I may  add 
that  we  have  all  been  remembered  together.  We 
have  shared  largely  in  the  same  liberality.  I will 
tell  you  all  about  it  when  we  get  into  one  family 
again,  as  I hope  we  shall  before  long.  Dick,  we  pray 
for  you  daily.  Keep  up,  my  poor  brother.  We  are 
all  well.  We  visit  at  Mrs.  Livingston’s  to-morrow. 
Write  immediately.  Good-bye.  Eliza.’  ” 

Joy,  in  its  fulness,  rushed  into  his  heart  again,  and 
he  felt  happy ; for  if  he  did  not  know  the  name  of  the 
donor,  he  felt  that  it  was  a gift  of  pure  benevolence 
• — a benevolence  which  looked  not  for  a reward  from 
man,  but  the  aim  of  which  was  higher  and  holier  than 
an  earthly  reward. 

As  he  was  passing  back  to  the  office,  he  found  Sam 
mounted  like  a prince  on  a hitching  post,  at  the  door 
of  the  hotel,  entertaining  a half  dozen  of  his  sable 
brethren  with  his  philosophizing  propensities,  for  he 
was  what  is  called  a ‘ cute  nigger,’  and  nothing  escaped 
his  observation ; and  to  his  mind  there  was’  something 
wrong  about  everything  in  which  he  had  not  a share. 
As  Dick  was  passing  by,  Sam,  with  a good  deal  of  im- 
pertinence, said: 

“ Massa  Wilson,  you  found  de  trunk  all  right  side 
up,  did  you  ?” 

“ Oh,  yes,  Sam,”  said  Dick,  cheerfully. 

“Well,  Massa  Wilson,”  said  Sam,  “you  wouldn’t 
find  it  in  dis  way  if  any  nigger  but  myself  had  toted 


198 


DICK  WILSON. 


it  down  tliar  on  tliat  broken-backed  barrow.  It  takes 
dis  nigger  to  do  smart  tings.  When  you  gits  a trunk 
agin,  jist  call  on  Sam.  He’s  allers  about.” 

“ Yes,  I will  call  on  you,  Sam.”  But  Dick  thought 
that  the  repetition  of  such  an  event  was  probably  a 
good  way  off. 

A few  days  after  this,  he  was  sitting  alone  in  the  of- 
fice, very  busily  engaged  in  making  out  and  arranging 

some  papers  for  Squire  B , which  were  intended 

for  the  Supreme  Court,  and  just  as  he  had  finished, 
enveloped  and  marked  them,  and  was  about  to  put 
them  into  the  proper  L pigeon-hole,’  a young  colored 
boy  entered  the  office,  making  the  inquiry — 

“ Is  dis  whar  Massa  Dick  Wilson  be  ?” 

“Yes,  my  boy,”  said  Dick,  “I  suppose  I am  the 
person  for  whom  you  are  inquiring ; but  you  ought 
not  to  say  Massa  Wilson.  You  ought  to  say  Mister 
Wilson.  We  have  no  such  titles  in  this  latitude.” 

“ Yes,  Massa  Wilson,  but  den  you  got  de  ting  itself, 
and  Sanco  can’t  see  for  why  you  no  hab  de  name  too. 

I tell  you,  Massa,  Judge  L be  no  more  massa  at 

de  soufe  dan  he  be  at  de  norfe.  I’ll  be  bound  he  be 
massa  wharever  him  can  cotch  a nigger.” 

“You  live  with  Judge  L , do  you,  Sanco?”  in- 

quired Dick. 

“ I stays  dar,  Massa  Wilson.  Nobody  lib  at  his 
house  dese  times  but  Miss  Lucy,  from  New  York,  and 
Horace  Stevens.  All  de  rest  only  stay  now  I” 


THE  PARTY — SNARE — ESCAPE.  199 

“ What  do  you  want  with,  me,  Sanco?” 

“ My  gracious ! massa,  you ’s  so  kind.  I most  forgot 
dis  yer  note.  Here  it  is.  It’s  berry  sweet,  I guess. 
Most  de  whole  ob  dem  fussed  about  it.  Look  out, 
massa!  Missus  from  New  York  writ  dat  note,  and  a 
mighty  sight  of  fun  dey ’s  had  ober  it  too  ! Dey  say 
some  tings,  massa.  Dey  seem  to  tink  Sanco  got  no 
ears,  ’cause  he ’s  got  a black  skin.  But  mercy ! Sanco 

mustn’t  for  de  life  ob  him  say,  or  Judge  L skin 

dis  yer  nigger  ’live ! Dat  ain’t  all  gold,  massa,  what 
shines — dat’s  a fact,  it  ain’t — ’cause  den  niggers’  eyes 
be  gold  in  de  night : in  fact,  den  most  de  whole  nigger 
be  gold  all  de  time.  ’Member  dis,  massa.  Sanco  says 
look  out ! Dis  mean  something , massa.” 

Although  this  little  colored  boy  had  awakened  a 
strong  current  of  curiosity  in  the  mind  of  Dick,  yet  he 
was  too  honorable  to  attempt  to  wrest  any  secrets  from 
him.  The  peculiar  emphasis  of  the  bearer,  as  well  as 
his  meaning  hints,  were  the  evidences  that  he  had 
matters  of  importance  which  he  would  like  to  com- 
municate, but  that  the  fear  of  the  lash  prevented  him 
from  approaching  nearer  than  an  indistinct  hint  or  a 
meaning  emphasis.  Dick  might  have  drawn  from  him 
the  whole  matter — he  might  have  opened  his  commu- 
nicative heart  and  taken  from  it  its  treasured  secrecy 
— xor  there  is  no  power  before  which  this  race  become 
so  entirely  impotent  over  their  own  hearts  as  by  kind- 
ness— and  Dick  had  the  very  kind  of  nature  by  which 


200 


DICK  WILSOK. 


lie  could  have  taken  everything  from  it.  He,  how- 
ever, had  a sense  of  honor,  which  prevented  him  from 
doing  many  things,  merely  because  he  could  do  them, 
irrespective  of  the  rights  and  feelings  of  others.  To 
him,  if  that  heart  was  crowned  with  a woolly  head , it 
was  just  as  sacred  as  if  God  had  given  it  a covering 
more  indicative  of  nobility. 

He  opened  the  note  at  once,  and  he  could  not  help 
admiring  the  nice  mechanical  beauty  of  the  hand  in 

which  it  was  written.  It  was  from  Judge  L ’s 

family,  sure  enough,  and  contained  for  him  an  invita- 
tion to  attend,  in  a few  evenings,  a party  at  Judge 

L ’s,  which  was  designed  to  be  complimentary  to 

Miss  Lucy  S , the  reputed  belle  from  New  York. 

Dick  thought  that  the  expression  of  consideration 
which  the  note  contained  for  himself,  was  over- wrought, 
and  this,  in  connection  with  the  fact  that  Horace 
Stevens  had  something  to  do  with  it,  to  his  mind, 
made  it  altogether  a suspicious  affair,  calling  upon  him 
to  treasure  the  simple  hints  of  Sanco. 

From  all  he  had  seen,  and  from  what  he  had  over- 
heard from  Horace  Stevens  a few  days  before,  he  con- 
cluded that  this  was  a trap  set  for  some  purpose  ; but 
what  that  purpose  could  be,  unless  it  was  what  Mrs. 
Watson  had  told  him,  he  could  not  divine. 

“Well,”  said  he,  “ whatever  may  be  the  object,  I 
have  the  advantage  this  time ; for  I can  stay  or  go, 
just  as  I choose.  My  clothes  will  be  finished  to 


THE  PARTY — SNARE — ESCAPE. 


201 


morrow.  If  this  invitation  had  come  a week  earlier, 
why  then  I couldn’t  have  done  just  as  I chose,  unless 
I had  chosen  to  stay  away,  or  go  with  these  clothes  : 
and  that  I shouldn’t  very  likely  have  done.  I can 
now  go,  and  make  a respectable  appearance,  too,  and 
perhaps  by  a violent  effort  I may  be  able  to  keep  up 
my  caste  with  Horace  Stevens,  and  the  precious  knight- 
hood which  he  inherits  from  the  old  stone  house  and 
the  drover's  saddle-bags .” 

Dick  felt  that  in  the  very  step  which  he  was  about 
to  take,  or  refuse  to  take,  there  might  be  consequences 
of  more  importance  than  from  his  knowledge  there 
was  reason  to  expect.  Suspicions  are  hardly  ever 
awakened  prematurely,  in  the  hearts  of  those  who  are 
naturally  confiding  and  unsuspicious  ; but  when  once 
they  are  awakened,  it  is  a difficult  matter  to  allay 
them. 

He  knew  something  of  Judge  L ’s  character, 

and  the  influences  by  which  he  was  surrounded ; and 
concluded  to  be  governed  in  this  matter  by  whatever 
advice  he  might  get  from  Mr.  Watson’s  family  in  ref- 
erence to  it,  for  he  was  assured  that  they  were  his 
friends. 

As  soon  as  it  was  convenient  to  do  so,  Dick  entered 
Mr.  Watson’s  house,  and  was  met  at  the  door  by  Mrs. 
W atson,  who  immediately  asked  the  question.  11  Rich- 
ard, are  you  going  to  the  party  at  Judge  L ’s  ?” 

I* 


202 


DICK  WILSON”. 


Dick  saw  through  her  mischievous  smile,  and  re- 
plied, 

“ With  your  permission,  Mrs.  Watson.” 

“ That’s  a good  boy,”  said  Mrs.  Watson,  smiling, 
and  then  assuming  her  ususal  demeanor,  which  was 
pleasant,  she  said,  “ you  have  an  invitation,  Richard  ?” 
“ Verily  I have,”  said  he,  taking  it  from  his  pocket, 
u here  it  is.” 

Mrs.  Watson  looked  at  it  a moment,  and  then  re- 
marked, u They  have  taken  more  pains  with  yours 
than  they  did  with  mine.” 

u Ain’t  they  written  in  the  same  style?”  inquired 
Dick. 

“ No,  I guess  they  ain’t,  Richard,  nor  by  the  same 
hand  either — they  want  you  more  than  they  do  me. 
However,  I shall  go,  and  it  will  be  purely  on  your  ac- 
count. I suppose  you  have  made  up  your  mind  to  go  ?” 
“I  don’t  know  that  I have,  Mrs.  Watson.  I am 
afraid,  from  all  that  I can  get  hold  of,  that  there  is 
treachery  in  this.” 

11  There  is  no  doubt  of  it,  Richard,  and  it  will  only 

become  visible  as  they  reveal  it.  If  Judge  L has 

had  anything  to  do  with  it,  you  may  depend  it  is  a 
complicated  affair.  But  go,  Richard,  by  all  means. 
Look  yourself,  just  as  if  you  suspected  nothing,  and 
yet  be  watchful  of  everything,  and  you  will  in  this 
way  more  than  half  conquer  those  who  are  engaged 
in  this  business.” 


THE  PAKTY — SNAKE — ESCAPE. 


203 


“ Is  Mr.  Watson  going  ?” 

“ Yes,  certainly ; and  that  too  on  yonr  account.” 

“ Then,  Mrs.  Watson,  I will  go  ; and  I want  yon  to 
help  me  to  watch  everything  that  may  be  on  foot 

concerning  ns.  Have  they  asked  Mr.  S ?” 

a Oh  dear  me — I gness  not.  He  is  too  hard  on  the 
rnmsellers  for  that,  and  they  wonld  not  have  asked 
myself  and  hnsband,  only  in  hope  that  it  might  induce 
yon  to  go.  If  they  didn’t  want  me,  they  will  be  dis- 
appointed, for  I will  go.  I have  some  cnriosity  to  see 

what  a party  at  Jndge  L ’s  looks  like.” 

The  evening  at  length  came,  and  was  very  pleasant 
and  beautiful.  The  village  seemed  to  be  in  commo- 
tion, for  parties  were  things  which  only  occurred  occa- 
sionally^ and  not  often  enough  to  keep  one  in  their 

ways;  but  a party  at  Jndge  L ’s!  why,  it  was 

everybody’s  wonder.  Snch  a thing  had  never  before 
been  known. 

On  this  evening,  Dick  saw  again,  in  all  the  vivid- 
ness of  a life-like  dream,  his  princely  home,  with  an 
unstinted  elegance,  and  in  the  midst  of  this  vision,  as 
he  had  often  seen  it  in  reality,  he  saw  moving  the  fine 
form  of  his  father,  and  close  by  his  side  two  lovely 
sisters,  and  by  a table  a mother,  in  matronly  pride, 
with  the  infant  Harry  in  her  arms,  wrapt  in  the  ful- 
ness of  her  domestic  joys. 

The  circumstances,  no  doubt,  had  much  to  do  with 
the  frame-work  of  this  fragile  fabric,  which  soon  was 


204 


DICK  WILSON. 


to  be  swept  away  into  tbe  land  shadowed  by  dreams. 
But  if  the  circumstances  could  awaken  these  things, 
which  were  so  much  like  a reality,  it  was  only  by  con- 
trast. From  such  contemplations  Dick  Wilson  was 
awakened  to  enter  a house  which  was  not  naturally 
great,  but  around  which  circumstances,  for  the  time, 
had  been  pleased  to  throw  a fictitious  greatness.  It 
wras  to  such  a place  that  he  was  called,  exhorted,  and 
persuaded,  and  yet,  astonishing  as  it  was,  it  was  at  the 

house  of  Judge  L- . The  fact  is,  there  were  a great 

many  positions  which  would  have  suited  the  Judge’s 
abilities  much  better  than  the  one  of  which  he  then 
appeared  to  have  possession.  He  was  a good  judge 
of  a horse,  an  excellent  judge  of  brandy,  and  a most 
unscrupulous  miser,  and  an  intimate  and  confidential 
friend  of  the  liquor-dealers,  for  whose  interest  and  his 
own  he  would  make  the  law  and  the  evidence  bend  at 
any  time ; and  they  said,  with  heart  and  soul,  uhe  is  a 
great  man — he  is  our  helper  in  the  time  of  needy 

Dick  Wilson  was  arrayed  in  new  habiliments,  and 
his  appearance  was  neat  and  gentlemanly.  He  was 
very  tall,  rather  slender,  and  as  straight  as  an  arrow ; 
and  when  he  wished  to  do  so,  he  could  be  as  dignified 
as  a prince. 

“ Now,”  said  he  to  himself,  “ Sanco,  Massa  Dick 
Wilson  is  ready  to  be  off,  and  to  look  out  too,  and 
thank  fortune  he  has  some  good  friends  to  help  him.” 

One  half-hour  in  the  midst  of  that  throng — which 


THE  PARTY — SNARE — ESCAPE. 


205 


was  anything  but  respectable — found  Dick  calm  and 
self-possessed.  He  found  a number  of  his  real  friends 
there,  who  did  everything  in  their  power  to  make  him 
enjoy  himself; — there  were  some  there  also  who  had 
made  a profession  of  friendship  for  him,  but  he  had 
read  their  duplicity,  and  on  that  occasion  was  perfect- 
ly willing  that  they  should  come  to  a knowledge 
of  it. 

He  had  determined,  before  going,  that  under  no  cir- 
cumstances, for  a single  moment,  would  he  be  tempted 
to  relax  his  vigilance  ; and  from  certain  things  which 
had  already  transpired,  his  resolution  was  rather 
strengthened  than  otherwise. 

He  was  just  then  overhearing,  from  a group  who 
were  not  far  from  him,  that  which  sent  a shock  of  sad- 
ness through  his  heart. 

“Horace,”  said  one,  “do  you  know  where  Dick 
Wilson  got  those  fine  clothes  that  he  has  on  this  even- 
ing ? Why,  he  is  as  poor  as  a church-mouse.” 

“I  guess  they  came  from  P , in  the  stage  the 

other  day.  I saw  a trunk  taken  out,  marked  for  him, 
and  if  it  hadn’t  been  for  that  impertinent  fellow  at  the 
stage-office,  I should  have  known  all  about  it  there.” 

“ What  did  he  say  ?” 

“ Oh,  he  said  a good  deal ; he  is  a great  friend  of 
Wilson.  It  is  generally  understood  here,  that  his  fam- 
ily is  subsisting  on  charity  in  P ; and  I think, 

after  all,  that  there  is  a hoax  about  this.  I think  Mr. 


206 


DICK  WILSON. 


Watson  lias  furnished  these  things  for  him,  and  you. 
see,  with  all  their  gravity,  they  are  here  to-night ; and 
I suppose  they  only  came  to  see  how  their  book-keep- 
er would  act,  and  what  kind  of  appearance  he  would 
make  in  the  presence  of  gentlemen  and  ladies ; but  we 
will  tame  him  before  he  gets  away.  The  J udge  is  up 
to  these  things,  and  a single  swallow  of  that  wine  will 
set  him  over.” 

Not  a syllable  of  that  conversation  escaped  Dick’s 
ear,  and  in  that  group  he  saw  the  beautiful  belle  of 
the  evening,  Miss  Lucy  S , enjoying,  with  the  ap- 

petite of  a voluptuary,  the  perfidious  conversation  of 
those  young  men ; and  yet  not  a muscle  of  her  face 
gave  evidence  of  agitation. 

Directly,  Mrs.  Watson  passed  near  him,  and  a mean- 
ing look,  all  she  could  do,  was  rightly  interpreted  by 
Dick,  and  he  was  on  his  guard  in  a moment. 

Just  behind  Mrs.  Watson  came  Horace  Stevens  and 
the  young  ‘ belle’  before  referred  to,  and  after  an  in- 
troduction, she  entered  into  conversation  with  Dick, 
and  the  exceeding  gentility  of  his  manners  nearly 
threw  her  off  her  guard ; for  it  seemed  at  one  time 
that  she  did  intend  to  be  merciful,  but  getting  over 
this,  she  said,  “I  believe,  Mr.  Wilson,  you  are  from 
P .” 

“ That  is  my  native  place,  Miss  S replied 

Dick. 

“Well,  Mr.  Wilson,  I do  think  it  is  a charming 


THE  PAKTY — SHAKE — ESCAPE.  207 

place,  and  I should  like  very  much  to  live  there.  I 
have  been  trying  to  get  Pa  to  go  there  to  reside,  but  I 
cannot.  He  is  so  much  attached  to  his  old  ways,  that 
I cannot  persuade  him  to  change  them.” 

“ P is  certainly  a beautiful  place,  Miss  S 

and  it  has  many  delightful  and  thrilling  revolutionary 
incidents  connected  with  it.” 

“ Don’t  you  think,  Mr.  Wilson,  that  for  my  happi- 
ness Pa  ought  to  move  there  ?” 

“ Well,  I declare,  Miss  S ,”  said  Dick,  “ I cam 

not  tell ; but  as  a general  rule,  I think  it  is  safest  to 
give  the  judgment  of  age  and  experience  the  prefer- 
ence in  everything  which  is  not  manifestly  wrong.  I 
have  learned,  although  I am  young,  that  we  cannot 
truly  paint  our  future  history,  or  tell  by  what  circum- 
stances it  may  be  influenced.” 

“Pray,  Mr.  Wilson,  have  you  some  experience  in 
disappointments  ?” 

“ I have,  Miss,”  replied  Dick,  with  great  tender- 
ness ; “ this  is  the  only  thing  in  which  I am  rich  !” 

“ Indeed  ! Then  if  Mr.  Wilson  has  no  objection, 
his  experience  would  be  a matter  of  interest  to  me, 
perhaps  to  the  company — please  go  on,  Mr.  Wilson.” 
“ It  would  be  very  painful  to  me  if  I did  so,”  re- 
plied Dick. 

“Then,  Mr.  Wilson,  you  will  not  be  offended  if  I 
guess,  will  you?” 

“ Not  at  all.” 


208 


DICK  WILSON. 


“ You  have  been  disappointed?” 

“Yes,  bitterly.” 

“ Of  a tender  kind,  I suppose?” 

“ Very  tender  indeed.” 

“Yon  are  not  poor,  are  yon  ?” 

“ As  much  so  as  I well  can  be.” 

“ Not  an  object  of  charity  V' 

Dick  was  silent,  while  his  face  glowed  with  a mo- 
mentary indignation. 

“ Come,  Mr.  Wilson,  do  not  suffer  yourself  to  be 
offended.” 

“I  am  not  offended,”  he  answered,  “and  I do 
not  think  it  will  be  possible  to  excite  me  this  even- 
ing.” 

“ Ah ! yon  have  come  prepared  then,  Mr.  Wil- 
son?” 

“ I have ,”  added  Dick,  with  emphasis.  With  this 
she  rose  hastily,  with  a scornful  air,  and  advanced 

towards  the  part  of  the  room  in  which  Judge  L 

and  Horace  Stevens,  and  a few  of  the  same  class  had 
placed  themselves,  to  watch  her  success. 

It  was  very  evident  to  Dick,  who,  from  his  position, 
could  observe  those  plainly  towards  whom  she  was 
advancing,  that  already  she  was  telegraphing  with  her 
looks  the  success,  as  she  fancied,  which  had  attended 
the  onset. 

What  Dick's  thoughts  were  just  now,  we  do  not 
know ; but  we  know  what  it  would  have  been  natural 


THE  PARTY — SNARE — ESCAPE.  209 

enough  for  him  to  have  said  and  thought.  If  he  did 
not  show  his  feelings,  still  they  were  aroused,  and 
they  were  almost  forced  to  overleap  the  enclosure  in 
which  he  wished  to  keep  them,  until  he  could  get  into 
his  own  room. 

Dick  looked  up,  and  behold  she  was  coming 

again,  under  the  escort  of  Judge  L and  Horace 

Stevens ; a force  which,  except  in  bulk,  was  little  in- 
creased. 

“Mr.  Wilson,”  said  the  Judge,  with  an  exceeding 
effort  at  dignity,  “ Miss  S — — thinks  that  you  are 
somewhat  out  of  temper,  and  she  does  not  like  the 
manner  in  which  you  broke  off  a conversation  which 
was  interesting  to  her,  and  I have  volunteered  my 
services  as  an  umpire  in  the  matter.  Mr.  Stevens  can 
argue  the  case  on  the  side  of  Miss  Lucy,  and  I will 
decide.” 

“ I can’t  have  anything  to  do  with  Mr.  Stevens, 
Judge  L ,”  replied  Dick. 

“ Why  not,  Mr.  Wilson  ?” 

“ Because  I have  the  best  evidence  that  he  is  not  a 
gentleman.” 

“ That,  Mr.  Wilson,  is  a severe  charge,”  said  Judge 

L , “ to  make  against  one  of  my  guests,  one  of  the 

most  respectable  young  men  in  the  place.” 

“I  am  prepared  at  any  suitable  time  to  make  it 
good,”  replied  Dick. 

During  this  brief  conversation,  Horace  Stevens 
14 


210 


DICK  WILSOtf. 


showed  clearly  the  evidences  of  a coward,  who  had 
courage  enough  to  do  an  act  of  meanness,  when  con- 
cealed from  view  ; but  not  the  nerve  to  meet  a manly 
opponent.  He  was  silent. 

“Judge  L said  Dick,  “if  I have  permitted 

myself  to  be  discourteous  in  your  house,  without  a 
sufficient  reason  for  doing  so,  I am  willing  to  make 
every  reasonable  apology.” 

“ That  is  fair,”  said  a gruff  voice,  which  none  of  the 
parties  could  distinguish. 

“Ah,  Mr.  Wilson,”  rejoined  the  Judge,  “you  say 
reasonable , and  that  is  a very  ambiguous  term ; for  it 
means  almost  anything  which  one  may  choose  to  make 
of  it.” 

“ I used  it,  Judge,”  replied  Dick,  “ in  the  sense  in 
which  it  is  understood  by  honorable  persons.  I am 
no  trickster.” 

“And  I am  no  trickster , Mr.  Wilson.  Now  just 
apologize.  Mind,  it’s  a lady  you  are  settling  with, 
and  just  say  that  you  are  sorry  for  your  impu- 
dence.” 

“ Apologize  ! — make  myself  a fool  and  a puppet ! — 
put  myself  in  a position  where  I will  despise  myself! 
I can’t  do  that,  and  it  is  vain  for  you  to  ask  any  such 
thing  of  me.  Judge  L , you  have  given  this  mat- 

ter an  importance  which  does  not  belong  to  it,  in  your 
own  house.  Will  you  now  be  kind  enough  to  state 
this  matter  clearly.  I do  not  feel  willing  that  a single 


THE  PARTY — SNARE — ESCAPE.  211 

person  should  leave  this  house,  under  the  impression 
that  my  conduct  has  been  unbecoming.  I know  what 
becomes  a gentleman,  here  and  elsewhere.” 

“ Not  so  loud,  Mr.  Wilson,  we  do  not  wish  to  be 
overheard.” 

“Judge  L , this  matter  is  no  secret  in  your 

house,  it  was  understood  before  I came  here,  and  it 
was  nearly  the  first  thing  I heard  on  entering.” 

“You  are  mistaken.” 

“I  am  not  mistaken,  sir.” 

“ Did  Sanco  say  anything  to  you,  Mr.  Wilson,  when 
he  handed  you  the  note,”  inquired  Miss  Lucy. 

“ Nothing  more  than  was  necessary  in  discharging 
his  errand  faithfully.” 

“Did  you  ask  him  any  questions ?”  said  Horace 
Stevens. 

“ Judge  L ,”  replied  Dick,  casting  a look  of 

contempt  into  the  eye  of  Stevens,  “ if  you  will  ask 
that  question  I will  answer  it.” 

Will  you  answer  me,  Mr.  Wilson,”  said  Miss  Lucy. 

“ Certainly,  Miss,  I will  with  pleasure.” 

“ Did  you  quiz  Sanco  in  reference  to  that  note?” 

“I  did  not,”  said  Dick  indignantly. 

“ Well,  Mr.  Wilson,”  said  Judge  L , “Miss  Lucy 

has  said  that  you  treated  her  cavalierly .” 

“ Of  that  she  must  retain  the  liberty  of  forming  her 
own  opinion,”  said  Dick. 

“ Come,  Mr.  Wilson,  just  say  that  you  are  sorry, 


212 


DICK  WILSON. 


and  then  you  and  Mr.  Stevens  may  right  your  matter 
as  you  will.” 

“ I am  not  sorry,  sir,  and  as  for  that  fellow,  I can 
settle  with  him  whenever  he  may  desire  to  do  so.” 
Here  the  matter  ended  for  the  moment,  as  the  com- 
pany were  invited  to  the  refreshment  room. 


CHAPTEK  XII. 


THE  TEMPTER  FOILED. 

“ Then  by  a mother’s  sacred  tear, 

By  all  that  memory  should  revere, 

Though  boon  companions  you  may  be, 

Ah ! comrades,  fill  no  glass  for  me !” 

Again  Judge  L approached,  Dick  and  said, 

“ Mr.  Wilson,  just  say  that  you  are  sorry  for  what 
you  have  said,  and  this  will  right  the  whole  matter, 
and  it  will  be  dropped  at  once.” 

“Well,  Judge,”  replied  Dick,  “when  I am  sorry  I 
will  so  express  myself.  At  present  I cannot  belie  my 
own  feelings.” 

“Ah!  yes,”  said  the  Judge,  “it’s  all  nonsense  any 
how ; but  you  are  a tough  stick — just  like  your  pre- 
ceptor; but  then,  Mr.  Wilson,  you  ain’t  too  old  to 
bend  yet.  Will  you  walk  with  us  to  the  other  end  of 
the  parlor?” 

“ Certainly,  Judge,”  replied  Dick,  with  true  cour- 
tesy. 

Here  the  trio , of  which  Horace  Stevens  was  one, 
held  their  way  across  the  parlor  like  a triumphal  cav- 
alcade, with  their  fancied  captive  behind  them.  Mrs. 


214 


DICK  WILSON. 


Watson,  who  was  on  this  occasion  one  of  Dick’s  ad- 
vanced guards,  understood  the  whole  matter,  and  knew 
precisely  what  was  going  on ; and  she  knew  too  that 
her  presence  was  not  wanted  there.  It  made  no  differ- 
ence however ; she  knew  their  plan,  and  meant  to 
subvert  it. 

At  length  the  company  halted  in  front  of  an  old- 
fashioned,  stinted-looking  side  board,  which  was  or- 
namented according  to  no  style,  ancient  or  modern ; 
but  according  to  the  peculiar  taste  of  the  man  who 
gave  George  Handy  a suit  of  clothes,  and  then  pre- 
sided at  the  rum  meeting  ! 

Arranged  on  the  side  board  in  a convenient  posi- 
tion were  a few  quart  bottles,  which  were  naturally  as 
green  as  a cucumber-bed,  with  one  elegant  decanter, 
which  had  been  presented  to  the  Judge  by  a member 
of  Congress.  The  company  were  standing  with  their 
backs  to  the  side-board  when  the  Judge,  with  an  as- 
sumed military  air,  stepped  before  them  and  said — 

“ Ladies  and  gentlemen,  there  has  been  quite  an  un- 
pleasant debate  between  Mr.  Wilson  and  Miss  S , 

and  I have  been  laboring  to  bring  about  a settlement ; 
but  I am  sorry  to  say  that  I find  Mr.  Wilson  to  be 
really  stubborn , for  he  will  make  no  concessions.” 

“ What  is  the  charge?”  exclaimed  several  of  those 
who  knew  just  as  well  as  the  Judge,  what  was  going 
on. 

“Miss  Luoy  says,”  replied  the  Judge,  “that  Mr. 


THE  TEMPTEK  FOILED. 


215 


Wilson  has  treated  her  cavalierly ,”  and  then  drawing 
himself  np  with  a good  deal  of  dignity,  he  said, 
“ What  shall  be  the  penalty  ?” 

“ That  will  depend  upon  the  nature  of  the  offence,” 
said  a gruff  voice,  which  came  from  another  part  of 
the  room.  This  was  Dick’s  preceptor,  and  he  had 
been  sitting  in  the  same  position  all  the  evening,  ap 
parently  much  interested  with  the  pages  of  an  old 
book,  over  which  he  seemed  to  be  poring ; and  as  the 
Judge  repeated  the  question  again,  he  called  out, 
“ Explain,  explain,  if  you  please,  Judge;  I can’t  vote 
on  this  case  until  it  is  fairly  defined  and  he  gave 
himself  again  to  the  book. 

“ Squire  B , there  is  nothing  serious  about  this 

matter — it’s  all  a joke,  I assure  you,”  said  the  Judge. 

“Then,”  said  Squire  B , raising  his  eyes  and 

throwing  a glance  at  Judge  L , the  meaning  of 

which  he  understood;  “ you  ought  not  to  make  of  it 
a serious  matter.” 

“Oh!  Squire,”  replied  the  Judge,  “it’s  really  no- 
thing but  a joke.” 

“ I am  not  sure  of  that,”  continued  Squire  B , 

“and  if  you  did  not  design  treating  Mr.  Wilson  as  a 
gentleman,  you  ought  not  to  have  asked  him  to  your 
house.” 

“ Don’t  you  believe  me,  sir?”  inquired  the  Judge,  as 
if  such  a thing  would  be  strange  to  him. 

“I  do  sometimes,  sir,”  replied  Squire  D 


“but  I 


216 


DICK  WILSON. 


am  under  no  obligations  to  believe  wbat  is  not  sustain- 
ed by  evidence.’7 

All  this  time  Dick  stood  there  mute  and  motionless 
as  a statue.  His  forehead  was  pale,  his  cheeks  were 
slightly  crimsoned,  and  his  lips  were  rigidly  com- 
pressed, as  if  he  was  striving  to  smother  the  indigna- 
tion which  was  burning  in  his  heart.’  He  remembered 
the  rum-meeting , at  which  he  had  refused  to  disgrace 
himself  by  becoming  its  advocate  ; and  he  was  look- 
ing for  the  vengeance  of  him  whom  he  had  thus  mor- 
tally offended.  But,  in  the  face  of  this,  he  stood  the 
picture  of  earthly  nobleness,  looking  scorn  and  defi- 
ance at  Judge  L . 

After  the  Judge  had  recovered  from  the  entangle- 
ments into  which  Dick’s  preceptor  had  thrown  him, 
he  called  out  again,  “What  shall  be  the  penalty?” 
and  was  instantly  replied  to  by  one  of  the  board,  “ A 
glass  of  wine  with  Miss  Lucy.” 

At  this  moment,  by  what  was  doubtless  a pre-con- 
certed arrangement,  two  young  ladies  and  two  young 
gentlemen— they  were  called  so  by  a portion  of  the  com- 
munity— presented  themselves  before  the  company 
with  a supply  of  cake  and  wine. 

“By  my  word,”  said  the  Judge,  looking  meaningly 
at  Horace  Stevens,  “ that  is  precisely  what  we  wanted, 
and  yet  this  way  of  settling  a difficulty  did  not  occur 
to  me  at  all.” 


“ That  is  remarkable, said  Squire  B- 


THE  TEMPTER  FOILED.  217 

a What  is  remarkable,  sir  ?”  said  the  Judge,  impa- 
tiently. 

“ No  consequence  at  all,”  said  Squire  B . 

“This  is  it,  precisely,  Mr.  Wilson,”  said  the  Judge, 
taking  a tumbler  in  his  hand  and  holding  it  before 
Dick,  and  then  adding,  “ now  oblige  me,  Mr.  Wilson, 
by  drinking  to  the  health  and  happiness  of  Miss 
Lucy.” 

“I  have  no  objection,  Judge,”  said  Dick,  “ to  make 
friends  if  we  are  enemies,  in  a rational  manner ; but 
as  to  drinking  friends,  I will  not  do  it — I will  not  run 
any  risks.  I have  been  sufficiently  warned  in  and 
out  of  your  house.” 

“ You  do  not  think,  Mr.  Wilson,  that  I have  drug- 
ged it  ?” 

“ 1 don’t  know  as  to  that,  Judge,  but  I do  know  that 
fco  render  it  poisonous  drugging  is  unnecessary.” 

“Well,”  said  the  Judge,  “Miss  Lucy,  you  must  set- 
tle this  difficulty  yourself.” 

“ It  can’t  be  settled  by  you,  Judge,  in  this  or  any 
other  way.” 

The  tumblers  were  given  to  Miss  Lucy,  and  turning 
to  Dick,  she  said — “ Mr.  Wilson,  I am  sorry  that  with- 
out the  least  provocation  you  have  permitted  your 
temper  to  become  ruffled  this  evening ; and  by  do- 
ing so,  you  have  cast  an  unpleasant  gloom  over  all 
the  company.  Now,  Mr.  Wilson,  take  this  glass, 
and  let  us  drink  to  each  other’s  future  happiness,  and 


218 


DICK  WILSON. 


then  it  will  go  merrily  around,  and  all  will  be  smooth 
again.” 

“ I hope,  Miss,”  replied  Dick,  in  a very  gentlemanly, 
yet  very  firm  manner,  “that  if  the  pleasure  of  the 
company  has  been  for  one  moment  interrupted,  that 
you  will  not  insinuate  that  I am  in  the  least  degree 
accountable  for  it.  I will  drink  no  wine  this  night, 
and  I beseech  you  to  desist  from  further  offers  of  this 
kind.” 

“Are  you  a temperance  man?”  inquired  Miss  Lucy. 

“ Yes,  I am,”  said  Dick,  “ both  from  principle  and 
necessity.” 

“Well,  so  far  as  principle  is  concerned,  I guess  we 
are  all  about  in  the  same  fix ; but  we  don’t  know  any- 
thing about  necessity.” 

“You  may  know  something  about  it,”  said  Dick. 

“ Oh !”  continued  she,  “a  great  many  things  may 
be.  I suppose  Parson  Smith  is  trying  to  work  you 
into  a teetotaler.  Have  you  any  other  objections  be- 
side your  necessity  and  Parson  Smith  ?” 

“Yes,  Miss,”  said  Dick,  “I  have  a poor  mother;” 
and  then,  for  the  first  time,  the  tears  came  to  his  eyes. 

“ Any  other  reason,  Mr.  Wilson  ?” 

“ I have  a dear  sister,  beautiful  in  heart  and  form, 
who  would  tremble  if  she  were  here  now ; and  I have 
a little  brother ; and  these,  in  my  heart,  have  a rich- 
ness which  the  wine-cup  would  dissipate ; for  so  it 
was  with  my  father.” 


THE  TEMPTER  FOILED. 


219 


“ What  more  ?”  said  Miss  S . 

“ They  are  poor ; and  I am  their  dependence — their 
hope — the  object  of  their  daily  prayers — and  the  only 
one  to  whom  they  can  look  for  protection ; and  I 
must  not,  will  not  be  tempted,  while  I am  in  my  right 
mind.”  He  then  returned  to  his  seat. 

To  all  appearance  the  party  went  on  pleasantly; 
but  every  one  who  knew  Judge  L saw  disappoint- 

ment in  his  countenance  ; and  the  general  opinion  of 
those  who  could  only  conjecture,  was,  that  this  gather- 
ing was  got  up  with  the  view  of  entrapping  Dick,  to 
reward  him  for  his  refusal  to  take  part  in  the  rum- 
meeting. 

“Mr.  Wilson,”  said  a gentleman,  by  the  side  of 
whom  Dick  had  seated  himself,  “ you  managed  to  run 
the  gauntlet  pretty  well.” 

“ It  was  very  difficult  for  me  to  do  so,”  said  Dick, 
and  then  continued — “ If  it  had  been  Judge  L — - — 
alone,  I could  have  got  along  finely  ; but  to  thrust  a 
young  lady  into  the  work,  was  very  mean  in  him ; 
but  then  I fancy  their  profits  are  small  this  time.” 

“You  can’t  tell,  Mr.  Wilson,  what  the  profits  are. 

Judge  L is  a strange  man,  and  no  one  can  tell 

where  he  makes  or  loses.  He  is  one  of  those  men 
who  can  forget  a kindness  very  soon,  but  who  nevei 
forgets  an  insult.” 

“ Do  you  think  I insulted  him  ?”  said  Dick. 

“ He  will  so  interpret  it.  He  defines  everything  by 


220 


DICK  WILSON. 


his  feelings,  and  nothing  by  his  judgment ; and  he  can 
carry  the  appearance  of  friendship,  until  the  very 
moment  when  he  is  ready  for  vengeance.  It  would 
have  been  better  for  you,  my  young  friend,  to  have 
tasted  that  wine ; for  it  would  have  made  your  situa- 
tion much  safer,  inasmuch  as  you  would  not  have  in- 
curred his  hate.” 

“ I think  that  was  secured  before  this  evening,” 
said  Dick. 

“Mr.  Wilson,  I am  far  from  being  in  favor  of  in- 
temperance— indeed,  I am  an  out-and-out  temperance 
man  from  principle ; but  in  this  case,  I really  think 
that  a few  drops — not  enough  to  hurt  a child — while 
it  would  have  done  you  no  harm,  would  at  all  events 
have  secured  you  the  sympathy  of  most  of  the  com- 
pany; and  for  the  present  it  would  have  appeased 
Judge  L — * — .” 

“ Your  philosophy,”  said  Dick,  “ will  only  hold 
good  as  a trap ; for  the  theory  of  drops,  if  you  will 
observe,  is  the  silent  yet  potent  cause  of  much  mis 
chief.  You  have  seen  accounts  of  those  sliding  gla- 
ciers, and  dashing  snow  slides  of  the  Alps  and  Pyre- 
nees, with  the  havoc  they  have  made,  as  they  leaped 
from  crag  to  crag,  overtaking  the  swift-footed  chamois 
in  their  descending  fury.  There  was  a time,  sir,  when 
that  mighty  avalanche  was  but  a snow  flake  ; yet  the 
aggregation  of  these  is  found  sufficient  to  overwdielm 
with  ruin,  the  pleasant  valley  which  lay  beneath  them. 


THE  TEMPTER  FOILED. 


221 


Mark  the  path  along  which  the  avalanche  has  gone, 
and  it  will  occur  to  you  in  a moment,  that  there  was 
a time  when  it  was  fair  and  beautiful — when  it  was  re- 
joicing in  the  peaceful  possession  of  whatever  God 
had  given  to  adorn  its  being.  It  is  not  so  now,  and 
why  ? A single  drop  fell  upon  that  rocky  bosom,  and 
was  frozen  into  ice.  It  remained.  Another  and 
another  came,  and  remained ; and  then  the  gently 
rippling  stream — and  all  the  while  the  frost  was  fixing 
them  to  its  bosom.  At  length  the  deep  foundations 
of  the  rock  gave  way,  and  precipitated  a tempest  of 
ruin  into  the  valley  beneath — a melancholy  emblem 
of  the  desolation  wrought  by  intemperance.  I am 
very  well  satisfied  that  the  avalanche,  which  by  the 
succession  of  drops  is  formed  in  nature,  is  a very  faint 
type  of  the  desolating  character  of  the  avalanche  which 
the  single  drop  you  recommended  may  form ; and 
which  in  its  falling — for  that  is  almost  inevitable — 
will  necessarily  tear  and  drag  out  every  root,  flower 
and  twig  which  may  be  there — yes,  everything  with 
which  God  has  adorned  and  dignified  intelligent 
beings — and  in  its  course  it  will  desolate  the  last  green 
spot  which  misfortune  still  cherishes.  I think,  sir, 
your  philosophy  of  drops  only  leads  to  quarts  and 
gallons — to  the  open  door  of  infamy,  disgrace  and 
ruin.” 

“ Oh  yes,  Mr.  Wilson,  I understand  you ; but  my 
philosophy  is,  that  men  ought  to  govern  themselves. 


222 


DICK  WILSON. 


They  ought  not  to  permit  themselves  to  get  beyond 
proper  bounds  in  any  indulgence ! I am  a temperance 
man  from  principle , and  not  from  slavery . I believe 
in  men  taking  things  when  they  need  them,  and  let- 
ting them  alone  when  they  do  not  need  them.” 

“ Every  one  cannot  do  this,”  replied  Dick,  11  and 
those  who  are  not  absolutely  certain  that  they  have 
strength  of  resolution  to  do  so,  had  better  resist  it  en- 
tirely. The  celebrated  Dr.  Eush,  of  Philadelphia, 
would  not  even  administer  it  as  medicine — not  because 
it  might  not  be  instrumental  in  removing  some  dis- 
eases ; but  from  the  fear  that  it  might  implant  a deep- 
er and  more  deadly  one ; and  he  gave  as  a reason  for 
doing  so,  that  he  did  not  want  a single  one,  in  the  day 
of  God’s  judgment,  to  rise  up  and  charge  him  with 
having  made  him  a drunkard  ! And  now  let  me  ask 
you,  sir,  will  they  stand  in  that  same  audience  who  do 
not  administer  it  as  medicine,  but  for  gain  to  them- 
selves— those  who  never  cure,  but  always  kill ! The 
professional  rumseller ! what  will  he  do  there,  as  he 
rises  in  the  midst  of  the  ruin  he  has  made  upon  the 
earth?” 

“ Oh,  yes ; I see  now,  Mr.  Wilson.  It’s  very  plain. 
I might  have  seen  it  sooner — that  you  have  got  the 
same  absurd  notions  into  your  head,  which  are  abso- 
lutely crazing  some  people.  Mr.  S.  our  minister,  is 
getting  the  very  same  notions,  and  I am  sorry  for  you 
both,  for  it  will  prevent  your  success  here.” 


THE  TEMPTER  FOILED. 


223 


“These  notions,”  replied  Dick,  “did  not  craze 
George  Handy ; and  it  would  be  a fine  thing  for  the 
community  if  Mr.  Smith,  the  rumseller,  could  get  the 
same  notions.” 

“ Well,  Mr.  Wilson,  if  Parson  S.  don’t  keep  quiet, 
he  can’t  stay  here  long — he  is  the  people's  servant .” 

“ But  not  the  rumseller’s,”  said  Dick,  and  then  con- 
tinued— “ What  objection  have  you  to  Mr.  S.  ?” 

“ He  don’t  preach  the  gospel,  sir.”  , 

“ Your  understanding  of  the  gospel  and  his  may  be 
very  different.  Mr.  S.  is  a fine  scholar,  and  makes  it 
his  study ; and  it  is  fairly  to  be  presumed  that  he  un- 
derstands it.” 

“You  are  mistaken,  Mr.  Wilson.  I guess  I know 
what  is  gospel  just  as  well  as  Parson  S.,  and  I have 
just  sent  for  a commentary,  that  will  give  me  light  on 
the  Bible.” 

“ What  work  is  that,  sir  ?” 

“ It’s  called  Ccesar's  Commentary , and  I suppose  it’s 
a first  rate  exposition  of  what  gospel  is  !” 

“I  apprehend,”  said  Dick,  smiling  at  the  man’s  un- 
usual intelligence,  “ that  you  will  not  find  much  gospel 
there.” 

“ Have  you  read  it,  Mr.  Wilson  ?” 

“Yes,  sir.” 

“ Of  what  subjects  does  he  treat  most  particularly?” 

“ Of  his  wars,  the  countries  through  which  he  pass- 
ed, the  difficulties  he  encountered,  and  his  victories, 


224 


DICK  WILSON. 


* 

as  well  as  many  things  about  the  ancient  Roman  com- 
monwealth.” 

“ Has  he  no  gospel  in  his  book  ?” 

“ Not  a bit,  sir,  that  I could  see.” 

“Wasn’t  he  an  old  Roman  Catholic  Father?” 

“ No,  sir,  he  was  an  old  Roman  General,  and  not 
so  very  old  either — I should  think  not  so  old  as  your- 
self.” 

“ Good  Lord ! Mr.  Wilson,  if  you  don’t  astonish 
me.  Some  one  told  me  a very  different  thing ; but 

then  Mr.  S don’t  preach  the  gospel,  any  how,  for 

he  is  eternally  at  the  rumsellers.  Why,  Mr.  Wilson,  I 
heard  him  say  myself,  from  the  pulpit,  that  sooner 
than  see  his  daughter  the  wife  of  a drunkard,  he  would 
rejoice  to  see  her  in  the  coffin ! Did  you  ever  hear 
such  a wicked  expression?” 

“I  am  not  able  to  see  anything  so  horrid  in  that,” 
replied  Dick,  “for  I suppose  he  only  meant  that  he 
would  rather  see  his  daughter  breathe  her  last  in  his 
presence,  and  amidst  the  associations  of  his  own  home, 
than  to  have  her  a drunkard’s  wife,  at  the  mercy  of 
the  rumsellers,  as  poor  Handy’s  was,  and  then  die  at 
last  at  their  hands,  as  his  did,  leaving  a child  to  at- 
tract the  finger  of  scorn.  I have  a sister,  and  rather 
than  see  her  situated  thus,  I should  prefer  to  bear  her 
to  the  tomb.” 

% 

This  gentleman,  whose  intelligence  has  been  seen, 
had  been  put  in  nomination  by  the  rumsellers  of 


THE  TEMPTEK  FOILED. 


225 


B and  their -friends,  for  the  legislature  ; and,  un- 

fortunately for  the  cause  of  temperance  and  good  so- 
ciety, he  had  been  elected.  He  was  regarded  by  many 
as  being  the  counterpart  of  the  Irishman’s  cow-bell — 
ua  long-tongued , empty-headed  thing” — and  withal,  he 
fancied  himself  fit  for  greater  honors  than  this.  In 
fact,  he  was  just  the  kind  of  man  who  could  serve  the 
rumsellers  with  fidelity. 

Mr.  Watson,  who  was  overhearing  all  this  conver- 
sation, and  admiring  Dick’s  firmness,  at  last  said  to 
this  gentleman, — • 

“Mr,  Anderson,  if  a law  prohibiting  the  sale  of  in- 
toxicating drink  should  come  before  the  legislature, 
which  way  would  you  throw  your  influence  ?” 

Mr.  A.  looked  very  much  as  if  he  was  trying  to  sat- 
isfy his  own  mind  as  to  which  side  would  pay  the  best 
price,  or  give  the  surest  promises  of  a re-election,  and 
then  said, — “ That  would  depend  entirely  upon  cir- 
cumstances.” 

“What  circumstances?”  said  Mr.  Watson. 

“ Well,  sir,  the  shape  and  the  party  which  brought 
it  up.  If  it  came  up  in  a way  that  would  stop  the 
business  entirely,  I would  vote  against  it.  I think  I 
should — I don’t  know.  And  if  it  was  brought  up  by 
the  opposite  party  in  politics,  why  then  I am  sure  I 
would.” 

“If  you  brought  it  up  yourself,  how  would  you 
vote  then  ?” 

J* 


15 


226 


DICK  WILSOJST. 


“ There  is  no  danger  of  that,  sir;  I’ll  never  start 
such  an  unpopular  thing  as  that.” 

“ Suppose,  Mr.  Anderson,  your  constituents  should 
unequivocally  express  it  as  being  the  wish  of  a majo- 
rity of  them,  that  you  should  do  so,  what  would  you 
do  then  ?” 

“ I don’t  know  what  I should  do,”  he  replied. 

Mr.  Watson  could  get  nothing  out  of  Mr.  Anderson 
except,  I don't  know,  it  depends  on  circumstances , &c., 
and  gave  him  over  again  to  Dick. 

“ I am  told,  Mr.  Wilson,”  said  Mr.  Anderson,  “ that 
you  think  of  opening  an  office  in  this  place,  after  your 
admission.  Now,  let  me  give  you  some  advice  which 
may  be  for  your  good,  as  young  men  don’t  always- 
know  what  is  best  for  them.  I would  advise  you, 
when  you  are  called  on  again,  as  you  were  by  Judge 

L and  Mr.  Stevens,  to  deliver  an  address — to  do 

so.  You  will  lose  nothing  by  it ; and  if  you  were  to 
make  a speech  in  favor  of  rumsellers,  that  would  not 
compel  you  to  drink  their  rum.  At  such  a time  as 
this,  Mr.  Wilson,  you  ought  not  to  refuse  the  civilities 
of  the  house ; but  you  ought  to  eat  and  drink  such 
things  as  are  set  before  you,  asking  no  questions  for 
politeness’  sake.  Now  that  is  gospel.  Just  see,  if  you 
had  tasted  that  wine  to-night,  how  pleasantly  every- 
thing would  have  gone  off.  When  a friend  meets  you 
in  the  street,  and  asks  you  to  walk  into  a hotel  and 
take  something,  why,  do  so ! it  won’t  hurt  you,  and  it 


THE  TEMPTER  FOILED. 


227 


will  greatly  increase  your  popularity,  and,  by-the-bye, 
what’s  best  of  all,  it  will  increase  your  chances  in  po- 
litical life.  Ah!  Mr.  Wilson,  you  are  not  through 
yet.  There  conies  the  Judge  and  Horace  Stevens.” 

Dick  turned  his  head  and  saw  them  by  his  side. 

“ Mr.  Wilson,”  said  Judge  L — - — , “ we  have  called 
to  give  you  another  opportunity  to  make  an  apology 
to  Miss  S , before  the  company  quits  the  housed 

Dick  was  silent. 

“ Yes,  Mr.  Wilson,  you  must  apologize  or ” 

“ Or  what?” 

“I  will  consider  you  as  intentionally  insulting  my- 
self and  guests.”  # 

“ Judge  L , let  me  tell  you  now,  that  I did  not  in- 

tend to  insult  either  yourself  or  your  guests ; and  with 
this  explanation,  you  are  at  liberty  to  draw  such  con- 
clusions as  you  may  choose.  I have  not  been  sleeping 
since  I came  here,  neither  have  my  ears  been  closed ; 
and  I now  tell  yourself  and  Horace  Stevens,  that  your 
low  trickery — your  stealthy  whispers,  and  your  drug- 
ged wine-cups,  have  all  been  understood.  I was  hard- 
ly seated,  before  it  was  evident  to  me  that  I had  been 
brought  here  to  be  insulted,  and  only  because  I re- 
fused to  occupy  a position  at  your  rum-meeting, 

which,  as  Squire  B said  in  your  hearing,  would 

have  made  me  falsify  my  own  convictions,  and  play 
the  hypocrite.  I have  heard  Horace  Stevens  and  this 
same  Miss  S speculating  on  my  poverty  in  your 


228 


DICK  WILSOIST. 


tearing,  and  with  your  approbation  ; and  now  let  me 
tell  you,  that  I believe  this  whole  matter  has  been 
planned  by  yourself.  A man  in  your  position  ought 
to  be  ashamed  to  be  so  wedded  to  the  rum  interest  as 
you  are, — you  ought  to  have  more  forbearance  than 
merely  for  the  sake  of  gratifjdng  them,  to  wreak  your 
vengeance  on  one  who  has  already  been  so  deeply  af- 
flicted by  it.  I am  poor,  Judge  L , but  I have 

never  asked  a favor  of  you  yet.  I came  to  your  vil- 
lage to  do  what  your  friends  prevented  me  from  doing 
under  more  favorable  circumstances.  I am  poor, — 
yes,  as  it  has  been  said  in  your  house  to-night — 1 a 
book-keeper?  I am  willing  to  do  anything  that  is  hon- 
orable for  the  sake  of  those  whom  I love.  But,  Judge 

L , if  I am  poor,  you  cannot  shake  me.  I despise 

your  meanness,  and  now  I leave  your  house  to  enter 
it  no  more.” 

Dick  walked  quietly  out  of  the  room  in  which  the 
unjust  judge  would  have  offered  him  up  freely  as  a 
victim,  although  helplessness  was  clinging  to  him  for 
protection. 

What  boots  it  to  the  rumsellers  and  their  votaries 
who  falls  ? What  do  they  care  whose  heart  is  broken  ? 
What  value  do  they  set  upon  tears  which  are  scalding 
the  cheeks  of  the  widow  and  her  orphans  ? Ah  ! yes, 
and  what  do  they  care  for  the  partial  restraints  which 
the  law  now  imposes  upon  their  business  ? For  these 
things  to  them  are  nothing ; and  partial  legislation  has 


THE  TEMPTER  ROILED. 


229 


proved  itself  to  be  what  the  pruning  book  is  to  tbe 
hedge — it  gives  it  room  to  expand  and  to  flourish  ! Let 
the  axe  be  laid  at  the  root  of  the  tree , and  then  they  will 
unbosom  tbeir  instruments  of  death,  and  give  up  their 
power  to  afflict  mankind  I 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


THE  MAINE  LAW. — LEGISLATIVE  JUGGLING. 

“Is  this,  O life,  is  this  thy  boasted  prime? 

And  does  thy  spring  no  happier  prospect  yield? 

Why  gilds  the  vernal  sun  thy  gaudy  clime, 

When  nipping  mildews  waste  the  flowery  field  ?” 

On  a bright  afternoon  in  the  winter  of  185 — , a 
company  of  gentlemen  were  seen  emerging  from  a 
carriage,  at  the  door  of  one  of  the  first  hotels  in  the 

capital  at . In  almost  any  other  place  than  in 

the  capital  of  one  of  the  largest  and  most  influential 
states  of  the  Union,  their  appearance  would  have  at- 
tracted a large  share  of  the  popular  curiosity ; and 
even  as  it  was,  they  did  not  entirely  escape  notice. 
So  far  as  the  appearance  was  concerned,  it  pointed 
them  out  as  being  men  of  wealth ; and  this  of  course 
procured  for  them  the  extra  civilities  and  accommo- 
dations of  the  house. 

In  the  parlor  of  this  house,  and  before  a cheerful 
fire,  these  gentlemen  seemed  to  be  enjoying  them- 
selves. After  some  private  conversation  with  each 
other,  in  which  each  seemed  to  be  deeply  interested, 
one  of  them  rose  and  left  the  room,  and  almost  imme* 


THE  MAINE  LAW. 


231 


diately  returned,  carrying  in  Ids  hand  a list  of  the 
members  of  the  Legislature. 

“Ah!”  said  one,  “give  us  you  yet  for  an  emer- 
gency. Henderson,  we  can’t  fail  when  you  lead.” 

“ Money  will  do  anything,”  replied  Mr.  Henderson. 
“Well,”  said  another,  “ if  money  will  do  anything, 
we  can  accomplish  our  object  here  very  soon.  We 
have,  you  know,  the  privilege  from  those  who  sent 
us  here  to  try  its  virtue  to  any  extent.” 

“It  is  true,”  said  Mr.  Henderson,  “that  those  who 
sent  us  here  have  given  us  the  privilege  of  using  their 
money  freely.  Necessity  has  made  them  remarkably 
generous  just  now;  but  still,  for  our  own  interests, 
we  must  move  cautiously.  We  must  not  forget,  gen- 
tlemen, that  there  are  some  who  are  always  looking 
for  emergencies  in  the  affairs  of  others,  that  they  may 
turn  them  to  their  own  advantage.  We  must  keep 
cool,  and  so  far  as  possible,  we  must  keep  our  anxiety 
to  ourselves.” 

In  this  company  there  was  one  whose  appearance 
contrasted  strangely  with  his  companions.  They  were 
men  in  the  prime  and  vigor  of  life  ; but  he  was  a man 
of  seventy  years,  and  of  venerable  appearance.  But 
if  he  contrasted  strangely  with  his  companions,  his  ap- 
pearance and  his  years  did  more  so  with  his  mission. 

“It  will  be  important  for  us,”  said  the  old  gentle- 
man, “ to  meet  the  members  privately  at  their  rooms, 
that  no  suspicion  of  our  business  may  be  excited.  I 


232 


DICK  WILSON. 


have  had  much  experience  in  legislative  lobbying, 
and  have  always  found  this  to  be  decidedly  the  best 
course.  We  must  meet  each  night  to  compare  notes 
of  the  day’s  success,  and  to  prepare  our  future  plans. 
This  meeting  must  be  held  at  a late  hour,  for  most  of 
our  work  is  to  be  done  after  the  adjournment  of  the 
House.  We  can  then  have  the  undivided  attention 
of  those  whose  influence  we  hope  to  secure ; and  the 
members  at  this  time  are  also  much  more  approachable, 
being  mellowed  by  the  influences  which  we  know  full 
well  how  to  employ.  We  must  be  more  circumspect 
than  were  our  friends  at  their  late  meeting  in  Hew 
York.  In  their  excitement  they  committed  many 
egregious  blunders — blunders,  the  effect  of  which  it 
will  cost  us  much  labor  to  repair.” 

“ I am  very  sorry,”  said  Mr.  Henderson,  “ that  we 
were  foolish  enough  to  sanction  the  proceedings  of 
that  ridiculous  meeting,  whose  representatives  in  fact 
we  are.” 

“ To  what  item  in  the  proceedings  do  you  refer  par- 
ticularly ?”  said  one. 

“ Proscribing  the  leading  journal  in  the  city.  That, 
you  may  rely  upon  it,  was  a short-sighted  piece  of 
business,  and  it  did  us  more  harm  at  home,  and  it 
will  do  us  more  harm  all  over  the  State,  than  any- 
thing that  we  did  there.  This  foolish,  ill-advised  act 
has  given  the  editor  a double  power  to  operate  against 
us ; and  you  are  aware  that  we  can  get  no  counter- 


THE  MAINE  LAW. 


233 


balancing  editorial  aid.  I am  heartily  sorry  that  we 
sanctioned  any  such  proceeding  as  that.” 

“ Yes,”  was  the  general  rejoinder,  “ that  was  a great 
mistake ; but  after  all,  in  such  a promiscuous  gather- 
ing, it  is  well  that  nothing  worse  was  done.” 

“ You  may  well  say  promiscuous,”  said  Mr.  Hen- 
derson, “for  such  a gathering  I never  saw  before  ; and 
it  would  be  an  important  matter  that  would  lead  me 
into  such  a bedlam  again.  Eeally,  gentlemen,  there 
are  features  in  our  mission  which  are  not  over  and 
above  creditable ; but  we  must  hide  them  if  we  can.” 
“Come,  come,”  said  the  old  man,  “we  must  not 
spend  our  time  in  this  way — let  us  sit  up  to  the  table 
and  examine  this  list,  that  we  may  know  at  once 
where  and  with  whom  our  business  is  to  be  transact- 
ed.” 

One  of  them  took  the  diagram  of  the  seats  of  mem- 
bers and  commenced  a careful  examination,  and  oc- 
casionally marking  a name  with  his  pencil.  When 
he  reached  the  end  he  looked  up  with  an  air  of  satis- 
faction and  said,  “ I think  I have  the  matter  arranged 
now,  in  a manner  that  will  point  out  to  us  at  once  in 
what  quarter  our  business  lies.” 

“Let  me  see  the  list,”  said  Henderson;  and  then 
after  a moment’s  examination  he  said,  with  apparent 
dissatisfaction,  “ This  won’t  do  at  all.” 

“Why  not?”  said  the  gentleman  who  had  point- 
ed out,  as  he  thought,  so  distinctly  the  whole  course. 


234 


DICK  WILSON. 


“Because,”  said  lie,  “you  have  the  names  of  per- 
sons here  whom  we  could  neither  flatter  nor  bribe 
into  our  service.” 

“Let  me  look  at  it,”  said  the  old  gentleman;  and 
after  eyeing  it  closely  for  some  time,  he  continued : 
“ This  will  never  do.  There  are  names  here  that  we 
can’t  get.  We  might  as  well  try  to  enlist  in  our  favor 
Neal  Dow,  or  White,  or  Snow,  or  any  of  that  class.  It 
will  not  do  for  us,  gentlemen,  to  make  a single  mistake 
in  this  matter ; and  as  we  are  strangers  here,  if  we  are 
not  exceedingly  careful,  we  will  be  very  apt  to  dis- 
close our  plans  to  some  who  are  our  enemies,  and  be 
quite  certain  of  defeat.” 

At  this  juncture  there  was  some  beating  about  and 
changing  of  plans,  and  it  was  finally  thought  best,  in 
order  to  understand  fully  the  complexion  of  the  Leg- 
islature, to  hold  an  evening’s  consultation  with  a mem- 
ber, whom  they  well  knew  to  be  favorable  to  their 
plans. 

They  accordingly  met  him  in  the  evening,  and  were 
pleased  to  find  him  a man  of  imposing  personal  ap- 
pearance, surrounded  with  the  evidence  of  ease  and 
extravagance,  and  withal  an  air  of  calmness,  which 
made  their  approach  comparatively  easy.  They  at 
once  introduced  themselves  as  the  agents  of  the  liquor 
interests  in  their  great  city. 

“Ah!  yes,”  replied  the  legislator,  “I  believe  I 
have  had  some  correspondence  with  some  gentlemen 


THE  MAINE  LAW. 


235 


of  your  city  on  this  subject;  and  to  be  candid  with, 
you,  gentlemen,  I am  afraid  there  is  little  hope  for  the 
rum  traffic.  My  opinion  is,  that  before  the  adjourn- 
ment of  the  present  Legislature,  this  whole  matter  will 
go  by  the  board.  I don’t  believe  that  anything  can 
save  it ; and  those  who  value  their  reputation  more 
than  their  money,  must  keep  their  hands  out  of  it,  or 
they  also  will  go  overboard.” 

“ What  grounds  have  you  for  thinking  so?”  said 
the  old  gentleman. 

“ I will  tell  you,  sir,”  was  the  reply,  u and  then  you 
will  be  able  to  decide  for  yourself  whether  I am  cor- 
rect or  not  in  my  opinion.  You  are  probably  aware 
that  you  have  not  at  this  moment,  nor  can  you  en- 
list into  your  service  any  respectable  public  journal. 
They  are  all  on  the  other  side,  or  neutral,  and  represent 
not  only  the  wishes  but  the  will  of  the  people,  which 
is  manifestly  against  you  and  the  whole  liquor  traffic, 
and  in  favor  of  its  being  made,  by  stringent  legislation, 
a penal  offence.  There  are  at  this  moment  petitions  to 
this  effect  in  the  Capitol,  containing  nearly  four  hun- 
dred thousand  names ; and  they  present  a most  strik- 
ing fact,  which  is  this:  these  petitions  represent  the 
orderly  and  respectable  portion  of  the  community ; 
and  these  evident  demonstrations  of  the  people’s  will 
in  the  matter  cannot  be  lightly  considered  or  turned 
aside.  Now,  as  to  their  right  to  make  known  their 
will  in  this  way,  there  can  be  no  question,  nor  as  to  the 


236 


DICK  WILSON. 


great  force  of  their  arguments.  There  are  about 
twenty-five  thousand  drunkards  in  this  State  alone, 
who,  in  connection  with  the  business  in  its  wholesale 
and  retail  character,  costs  the  State  annually  millions 
upon  millions  of  money — a fact  we  cannot  gainsay ; 
and  when  dollars  and  cents  are  swollen  into  immense 
amounts,  that  is  an  argument  which  the  people  can 
understand ; and  if  we  add  to  this  the  poverty  and 
suffering,  the  vice  and  crime  which  the  friends  of  tem- 
perance represent  as  flowing  from  the  rum  traffic,  you 
can  readily  see  what  we  have  to  contend  against.  I 
don’t  know  what  may  be  the  popular  feeling  of  your 
city  in  reference  to  this  matter,  but  certainly,  gentle- 
men, if  you  have  any  friends  there,  they  ought  to 
speak  out — NOW  is  the  time  for  them  to  do  so.  If 
you  remain  here  a few  days,  you  wfill  soon  understand 
the  feeling  of  the  State  upon  this  subject,  for  the  name 
of  Maine  is  as  familiar  and  as  popular  here  in  these 
days,  as  the  name  of  Tippecanoe  was  twelve  years 
since.  In  fact,  everything  is  cut  and  squared  accord- 
ing to  the  proportions  of  the  1 Maine  law.’  The  prac- 
tical workings  of  that  law,  in  the  State  of  Maine,  have 
so  far  been  highly  favorable  to  temperance.  In  that 
State  the  expressed  will  of  the  people  was  carried  out, 
and  the  traffic  in  rum  was  placed  upon  the  statute  by 
the  side  of  other  crimes , and  the  rumseller  by  the  side 
of  other  criminals.  The  aggregate  expenses  of  the 
State  have  in  a few  months  decreased  in  an  unexam- 


THE  MAINE  LAW. 


237 


pled  ratio,  and  the  decrease  in  expenditure  has  not 
been  the  only  advantage  derived  from  it.  It  has  been 
confidently  asserted  on  the  floor  of  the  House,  that 
everywhere  throughout  that  State  it  has  diminished 
greatly  the  consumption  of  intoxicating  drinks,  and 
the  evils  inseparable  from  that  consumption  have  of 
course  ceased.  You  can  see  the  advantage  they  have 
over  us  in  this  contest.  Millions  of  money  are  fool- 
ishly expended  in  this  State — our  asylums  are  crowd- 
ed— our  prisons  filled  to  overflowing — and  victims  for 
the  scaffold,  their  number  is  frightful. 

“ The  Maine  law  has  produced  a different  result.  It 
is  conclusively  shown  to  have  diminished  taxation, 
crime,  pauperism,  and  misery,  and  to  have  introduced 
hope  and  happiness  into  thousands  of  desponding 
hearts  and  desolated  homes.  If  it  were  not  for  this 
standing  demonstration,  you  might  hope  to  succeed ; 
but  as  it  is,  it  lies  in  your  way,  and  will  be  there 
whichever  way  you  turn.” 

“ Can’t  we  double  the  cape  of  Maine”  said  Mr.  Hen- 
derson, smiling,  “and  get  ’round  by  some  kind  of  leg- 
islative strategy  ?” 

“I  should  rather  attempt,”  replied  the  legislator, 
“ to  double  Cape  Horn  in  a skiff.  I tell  you,  gentle- 
men, it  will  take  steady  sailing  and  a practised  helms- 
man to  go  through  such  a sea  as  this  ; and  I am  not 
aware  of  any  kind  of  legislative  manoeuvering  by 
which  your  interests  could  possibly  be  secured.  Do 


288 


DICK  WILSON. 


you  know,  gentlemen,  with  any  kind  of  certainty,  how 
Pennsylvania  will  decide  upon  this  question  ?” 

“ It  will  be  very  close,’7  replied  Mr.  Henderson, — 
11  one  or  two  votes*  either  way  may  decide  the  matter. 
We  are  in  constant  communication  with  Philadelphia, 
and  are  assured  that  nothing  by  which  they  can  hope 
to  influence  the  Legislature  will  be  left  undone.  It  is, 
however,  very  uncertain.” 

“ That  is  just  what  I supposed.  The  people  are 
waking  up  everywhere ; and  so  far  as  Pennsylvania  is 
concerned — in  view  of  expenditure , drunkards , crime, , 
and  poverty — she  is  not  a whit  behind  this  State  ; but 
as  yet  I believe  she  has  not  disgraced  any  spot  within 
her  dominions  by  the  appropriation  of  it  to  a mass 
rum-meeting  ! How  does  the  matter  stand  with  Mas- 
sachusetts ?” 

“ Massachusetts  and  Ehode  Island,”  replied  the  old 
gentleman,  “ are  about  as  good  as  gone.  The  Boston- 
ian rum-manufacturers  and  dealers  do  not  appear  to 
manage  well ; they  are  too  saving  of  their  money ; and 
I am  convinced  that  the  time  has  now  come  when  no- 
thing but  money  can  save  us.” 

The  mention  of  money  only  enabled  the  legislator 
to  see  new  difficulties  in  the  case,  and  he  continued — 
“Now,  gentlemen,  if  you  are  not  willing  that  the 
wish  of  the  people  should  be  carried  out,  by  the  enact- 

* The  passage  of  the  “ Maine  Law”  bill  (so  called),  was  defeated 
in  the  Pennsylvania  Legislature  by  two  votes. 


THE  MAINE  LAW.  239 

ment  of  the  1 Maine  law’  in  this  State,  what  would  you 
be  willing  to  give  them  in  its  stead  ?” 

“ Oh,  good  heavens !”  said  the  venerable  old  man, 
“ anything  but  the  1 Maine  law,’  for  that  is  the  worst ; 
and  anything  else  will  be  better.” 

The  old  gentleman  betrayed,  contrary  to  his  wish 
and  that  of  Henderson,  the  great  anxiety  which  they 
had  upon  this  subject,  and  he  exclaimed  again, — 

“ Give  them  ? — -we  will  give  them  the  old,  the  new, 
and  all  the  excise  laws  linked  together ! Anything 
under  the  heavens  but  the  1 Maine  law,’  for  there  is  no 
getting  around  that.” 

“They  make  a strong  plea  on  this  count,  gentle- 
men ; for  they  say,  publicly  and  privately,  in  and  out 
of  the  House,  that  you  have  violated  every  pledge 
you  ever  made ; and  that,  in  spite  of  all  they  could 
do,  you  have  overreached  and  abused  them.” 

“ That  is  what  we  still  desire  to  do,”  said  Mr.  H. ; 
and  added — “There  never  has  been  an  excise  law 
framed  yet,  by  any  Legislature,  which  could  not  be 
evaded ; and  that  accounts  for  the  liberality  of  my 
aged  friend,  in  offering  anything  else  than  the  1 Maine 
law.’  If  the  spirit  of  existing  excise  laws  could  be 
carried  out,  they  would  destroy  rumselling ; but  the 
administrators  of  the  law  easily  evade  its  provisions, 
and  here  is  where  all  excise  laws  lose  their  spirit  and 
force,  and  if  the  thing  can  rest  here,  we  shall  be  satis- 
fied. There  are  many  excise  boards  in  this  State, 


240 


DICK  WILSON. 


from  whom  the  privilege  to  traffic  in  rum  can  be  ob- 
tained for  a small  price.  The  promise  of  a vote,  or  of 
influence  at  a coming  election,  will  sway  them.  For 
a liberal  fee,  I would  show  the  way  to  get  around  any 
excise  law  that  any  Legislature  might  make,  short  of 
the  1 Maine  law,7  and  then,  I must  confess,  that  my 
skill  as  a pilot  ends.57 

“ Yes,  Mr.  H.,77  replied  the  legislator,  “you  under- 
stand the  matter ; and  I have  no  doubt  that  more  than 
one  half  of  the  rum  sold  in  the  State  is  sold  fraudu- 
lently. 

“You  are  right,  sir,77  continued  the  legislator,  “but 
then,  in  order  to  secure  your  success,  you  would,  in 
the  first  place,  at  your  town  elections,  secure  a rum 
excise  board ; and  this  matter  is  generally  quite  easily 
accomplished. 

“The  excise  boards  in  this  State  have  proved  utter 
ly  insufficient.  In  many  instances  the  rumselling  in- 
fluence has  created  them,  and  then  the  rumsellers, 
high  and  low,  have  used  them  at  their  pleasure  ; and 
just  where  rum-drinking  was  a special  curse,  there 
they  permitted  it  to  be  poured  out  freely,  and  by  men 
too  of  abandoned  characters. 

“ Instead,  therefore,  of  any  improvements,  the  ad- 
vocates of  the  ‘ Maine  law7  say  that  matters  are  grow- 
ing worse — that  those  who  are  engaged  in  the  traffic 
are  pushing  it  on  with  more  recklessness  and  success 
than  ever  before ; and  that  they  have  no  reason  to 


THE  MAINE  LAW. 


241 


hope  that  it  will  ever  be  better,  while  the  law  vests  its 
control  in  the  hands  of  those  whose  governing  prin- 
ciple is  self-interest.  You  know,  gentlemen,  that  for 
the  most  part,  all  the  excise  laws  of  this  State  have 
been  so  tortured  in  the  hands  of  those  to  whom  their 
execution  has  been  entrusted,  that  they  have  become 
a mere  farce — a world-wide  burlesque ! 

“It  is  so,  also,  in  States  where  licenses  are  granted 
by  a different  process.  Take  Pennsylvania,  for  ex- 
ample : In  that  State,  licenses  are  granted  in  open 
Court,  on  an  application  to  which  twelve  respectable 
signatures  are  appended,  setting  forth  the  good  moral 
character  of  the  applicant,  his  reputation  for  temper- 
ance and  sobriety,  together  with  the  absolute  necessity, 
that  in  a particular  location  it  is  necessary  for  the  well- 
being of  the  community,  that  rum  be  sold  ! 

“ One  would  think  that  in  Pennsylvania  the  busi- 
ness was  pretty  well  guarded,  inasmuch  as  this  priv- 
ilege is  vested  in  the  judgment  of  twelve  respectable 
citizens — neighbors  of  the  applicant,  who  are  supposed 
to  know  that  what  they  certify  of  him  is  true . Facts, 
however,  prove  that  there  is  no  safety  even  with  this 
security.  They  show  that  even  good  citizens  may  be 
influenced  and  warped  to  such  an  extent  by  surround- 
ing circumstances,  that  they  have  not  the  courage  to 
say  that  they  cannot  in  any  way  abet  in  the  traffic ! 
With  all  the  precaution  which  hedges  about  even  the 
incipient  steps  of  procuring  license  to  sell  rum  in 
K 16 


242 


DICK  WILSON. 


Pennsylvania,  many  unprincipled  men — men  of  de* 
praved  moral  character,  can  get  twelve  citizens  to 
vouch  for  them,  and  the  courts  seldom  take  the  trouble 
to  inquire  into  the  matter,  and  are  permitted  to  estab- 
lish themselves  according  to  law,  to  violate  it  every 
day  of  their  lives  ! 

“In  a large,  influential,  and  wealthy  district  in 
Pennsylvania,  the  people  were  taken  by  surprise  when 
the  presiding  Judge,*  who  had  just  been  elected  to 
the  bench,  in  charging  the  grand  jury,  alluded  to  the 
deception  practised  upon  courts  by  false  representa- 
tions, and  announced  it  as  his  purpose,  when  he  had 
the  least  suspicion  in  reference  to  applicants,  to  bring 
their  vouchers  into  court,  and  see  if  they  would  say 
the  same  thing  under  the  solemnity  of  an  oath.  This 
was  taking  the  matter  at  once  by  the  ears,  and  is  a 
noble  example  which  those  in  like  circumstances  might 
imitate ; and  they  would  do  themselves  no  injury  by 
following  the  precedent.  Courts  seem  almost  entirely 
to  forget  the  importance  of  this  matter  to  the  individual 
and  general  interests  of  the  commonwealth.  If  a deed 
for  twenty-five  acres  of  mountain  land  is  brought  into 
court  as  evidence  in  any  case,  it  is  closely  examined. 
The  same  thing  is  true  in  reference  to  a will  or  a de- 
position ; but  an  application  for  a tavern  license — the 
granting  of  which  is,  in  many  cases,  the  greatest  afflic- 
tion under  which  a community  could  suffer — very 

*Hon.  William  B.  McClure  of  Pittsburgh. 


THE  MAINE  LAW. 


243 


often  when  the  paper  is  closed,  the  court  could  not 
mention  two  of  the  appended  names,  on  the  integrity 
or  veracity  of  which  they  have  granted  the  license ; 
and  the  same  loose  administration  of  the  law  which 
governs  the  rum  traffic  here  governs  it  there,  and  ren- 
ders it  almost  a nullity.  I must  confess,  gentlemen, 
that  the  more  I look  into  this  subject,  the  greater  the 
difficulties  become.  Arrayed  against  us  are  the  women 
and  children,  and  they  are  lifting  up  a voice  which 
will  make  itself  heard.  You  might  just  as  well  try  to 
stifle  the  thunders  of  Niagara  as  to  hush  the  plaintive 
wail  which  they  are  sending  up  to  legislative  halls. 
It  is  becoming  louder  and  louder,  and  soon  their 
united  voices  will  be  against  you,  and  then  you  might 
as  well  try  to  stand  upon  the  heavings  of  an  earth- 
quake, as  to  attempt  to  oppose  their  influence.  They 
no  not  spend  their  strength  for  money  or  for  popular- 
ity. It  is  in  one  mighty  plea  for  mercy  !” 

“ Ah  ! yes,”  said  the  old  man,  “ but  it  is  a morbid 
public  sentiment  which  permits  them  to  take  their 
position  on  this  ground,  in  reference  to  the  1 Maine 
law.’  ” 

“ They  are  the  sufferers,”  replied  the  law-maker, 
“ and  ought  to  be  heard.  It  is  equally  a duty  and 
pleasure  with  them  to  effect  those  reforms  which  the 
law  permits,  and  if  there  be  any  work  on  earth  in 
which  they  have  a right  to  take  part,  it  is  this,  un- 
questionably.” 


244 


DICK  WILSON. 


“ What  is  the  complexion  of  the  Legislature  on  this 
question  ?”  inquired  Mr.  Henderson. 

“ That  I cannot  tell,  sir ; but  if  they  follow  the 
wishes  of  their  constituents,  they  are  fairly  against 
you.” 

“ Well,”  said  he,  addressing  his  brethren,  “ we  may 
as  well  give  it  up,  and  return  home  in  the  morning, 
for  if  matters  stand  in  this  way,  the  case  is  hopeless.” 

This  legislator  was  a shrewd  man,  and  he  under- 
stood well  that  the  philosophy  of  getting  a handsome 
fee  was  to  represent  the  difficulties  in  the  case  as  great 
as  possible,  and  he  let  them  go,  being  assured  in  his 
own  mind,  that  they  would  call  again  in  the  morning. 

So  far  as  he  had  gone  on  one  side,  his  representa- 
tions were  true  to  the  life,  and  would  have  produced 
a fine  effect  if  he  had  possessed  the  courage  to  have 
shaken  off  the  rumseller’s  influence  and  money,  and 
advanced  them  independently  in  his  place.  But  this, 
unfortunately  for  himself  and  his  constituents,  he  had 
not  the  magnanimity  to  do. 

They  met  in  caucus  again  that  night,  and  were  dis- 
appointed. 

“ Perhaps,”  said  the  old  gentleman,  “ we  missed  our 
man  after  all,  but  if  the  case  stands  as  he  said,  it  is 
rather  dark  for  us ; and  he  seems  to  understand  him- 
self pretty  well.” 

“Yes,  so  he  does,”  replied  Mr.  Henderson,  “re- 
markably well,  but  no  better  than  I understand  him, 


THE  MAINE  LAW. 


24b 


and  I am  just  as  sure  of  his  influence  as  if  I saw  it 
operating  already.  We  must  move  very  cautiously. 
All  he  will  do  will  be  done  behind  the  door ; that 
man  will  never  come  to  the  light  in  this  matter — mark 
that I” 

After  repeated  consultations  with  this  gentleman 
and  other  legislative  dignitaries,  these  commissioners 
of  the  rumsellers  returned  home,  fully  assured  that  the 
1 Maine  law’  would  find  all  kinds  of  under-handed  ob- 
stacles to  contend  with. 

This  proved  to  be  true,  for  a system  of  patching 
upon  it  embarrassing  amendments  killed  it,  and  the 
wish  of  the  people  in  the  matter  was  overruled  by  the 
influence  of  a few  princely  liquor  dealers.  The  same 
thing  will  be  tried  again  and  again,  and  only  the  un- 
compromising vigilance  of  the  people  can  prevent  a 
recurrence  of  the  same  result.  The  rumselling  influ- 
ence will  do  everything  to  clog  the  wheels  of  legisla- 
tion on  this  subject — they  will  leave  nothing  undone. 
They  will  compass  sea  and  land  to  keep  the  privilege 
of  selling  rum ; and  the  only  way  in  which  this  tide 
of  perfidy  can  be  arrested,  is  for  the  people  to  see  to  it, 
that  those  whom  they  select  to  frame  their  laws,  shall 
be  men  whose  sympathies  are  on  the  side  of  right,  and 
who  in  the  discharge  of  the  sacred  duties  of  law-makers 
shall  be  governed  by  the  honest  convictions  of  their 
judgment,  and  not  by  fear  of  the  apprehended  frown 
of  the  maker,  seller  or  drinker  of  rum. 


CHAPTER  XIY. 


THE  DROVE'R’S  GRAVE. — “ MURDER  WILL  OUT.” 

“ Remember  Heaven  has  an  avengivg  rod ; 

To  smite  the  poor  is  treason  against  God !” 

The  signal  triumph,  of  Dick  Wilson  at  the  house  of 

J udge  L over  the  temptations  by  which  he  was 

beset,  soon  became  generally  known,  to  the  great  an- 
noyance of  the  Judge  and  those  who  were  associated 
with  him.  Dick’s  course  was  generally  approved  by 
the  inhabitants  of  the  village,  even  by  those  whose 
characters  were  the  reverse  of  his  own  ; for  consistency 
and  firmness  in  the  right  always  commands  the  respect 
even  of  the  vile.  To  some,  however,  it  seemed  to  be 
strange  and  unnatural  that  a young  man  and  a lawyer 
in  prospect  should  be  so  unsocial  in  his  habits  as  thus 
to  refuse  the  civilities  of  a neighbor’s  house.  Others 
did  not  see  fit  to  call  the  offer  of  wine  by  that  court- 
eous name,  and  admired  the  courage  which  had  so 
signally  resisted  the  wiles  and  enticements  of  that 
night.  As  a consequence  of  this  noble  resistance, 
every  family  in  the  village  who  prized  virtue,  valued 
peace,  cherished  love,  or  feared  God,  took  occasion  to 


THE  DROVER’S  GRAVE. 


247 


speak  in  his  praise,  and  did  not  say  to  their  sons  or 
daughters,  “ You  had  better  not  associate  with  Mr- 
Wilson  until  you  know  more  about  his  character.17 

One  single  exhibition  of  true  nobleness,  as  it  gushes 
forth  freely  and  warmly  from  the  heart,  untrammelled 
by  artificial  laws,  will  do  more  to  beget  the  abiding 
confidence  of  other  hearts  than  all  the  blandishments 
of  artifice  and  duplicity  which  the  most  practiced  may 
employ. 

Everyone  now,  with  the  exception  of  the  rum-sell- 
ers and  their  adherents,  were  gratified’ with  this  ex- 
hibition of  Dick’s  character.  Those  who  had  hereto- 
fore been  indifferent,  not  knowing  but  he  might  turn 
out  as  the  majority  of  young  men  there  had  hitherto 
done,  after  they  saw  him  shake  the  viper  into  the  fire, 
instinctively  turned  to  regard  him  as  the  nucleus  about 
which  large  prospects  of  future  usefulness  were  gather- 
ing, and  which  promised  to  do  much  in  wiping  re- 
proach from  their  village  and  securing  the  interests  of 
their  children  from  the  poluting  social  influences 
which  had  too  long  held  sway  among  them.  It  was 
generally  understood  that  Dick  intended  locating  him- 
self in  their  midst,  and  that  immediately  after  his  ad- 
mission to  the  bar,  through  the  persuasion  of  Mr. 
Watson  and  others,  to  bring  the  wreck  of  his  family 
there  to  reside.  To  many  this  was  cheering  intelli- 
gence. They  thought  he  had  passed  successfully 
the  most  dangerous  temptation  which  was  likely 


248 


DICK  WILSON. 


to  beset  him,  and  they  would  freely  exchange  the  en 
tire  rum  interest  of  the  village  for  the  mother  and 
sister  and  brother  of  that  Spartan  youth.  To  the 
plainest  question,  however,  there  are  usually  two  sides, 
on  each  of  which  will  be  found  arrayed  those  of  oppo- 
site opinions,  interests  and  tastes.  It  was  so  here,  with 
the  exception  of  Jacobs,  who  seemed  to  occupy  rather 
anomalous  ground,  being  strictly  identified  neither 
with  the  rum  interest  nor  its  opponents.  With  this 
exception,  the  question  of  Dick’s  permanent  residence 
among  them  was  looked  upon  by  his  friends  with 
hope,  and  by  his  enemies  with  fear  and  disfavor.  His 
refusal  to  speak  at  their  rum  meeting,  to  act  as  secre- 
tary for  them,  and  last  of  all,  to  drink  at  the  house  of 

Judge  L , had  fixed  the  hate  of  the  latter,  and 

they  lost  no  opportuity  to  show  it,  and  the  combined 
influences  of  the  bar-room  and  the  gambling-cellar 
were  resorted  to,  in  order  to  prejudice  his  interests. 

Persecution  has  often  a sickening  effect  upon  the 
heart ; yet  it  is  sometimes  overbalanced  by  its  salu- 
tary consequences.  Its  effects  are  much  like  those  of 
the  crucible ; it  distinguishes  between  the  false  and 
the  true,  pointing  out  those  in  whom  confidence  may 
be  safely  reposed,  as  well  as  those  who  are  unworthy 
of  it. 

The  man  who  by  long  acquaintance  has  familiarized 
himself  with  the  scenes  attendant  upon  the  rum  traffic 
— with  the  want,  the  misery,  the  suffering,  the  horror 


THE  DROVER’S  GRAVE. 


249 


that  are  daily  before  him  whose  daily  bread  is  pur- 
chased with  widows’  sighs  and  orphans’  tears, — such 
a man,  if  not  fully  prepared  for  “ treason  and  murder,” 
is  emphatically  ripe  for  “ strategy  and  spoils.”  Human 
sympathy  or  respect  for  the  common  rights  of  his 
fellows,  have  no  place  in  his  bosom.  If  men  or 
measures  come  in  conflict  with  his  vocation,  he  is 
equally  unscrupulous  of  the  merit  of  the  one  or  the 
justice  of  the  other.  His  time,  his  talents,  his  means, 
and  all  the  arts  which  ingenuity  and  depravity  can 
suggest,  are  industriously  employed  to  maintain  him- 
self and  to  circumvent  those  who  would  rid  society 
of  his  pestilent  influence. 

Mr.  Stevens,  the  superannuated  rumseller  and  knight 
of  the  u old  stone  house,”  was  the  ostensible  leader  of 
Dick’s  enemies,  and  he  was  often  heard  to  swear  that 
he  should  never  locate  among  them.  The  threats  of 
this  poor  old  man,  however,  who  had  been  worn  out 
in  the  service  of  rum  and  the  crimes  which  grow  out 
of  it,  did  not  intimidate  Dick  in  the  least,  but  rather 
tended  to  arouse  him  to  new  exertion.  It  was  evident 
that  his  hopes  were  becoming  brighter  as  the  time  of 
his  admission  to  the  legal  bar  drew  nearer. 

Perhaps  you  know,  reader,  the  strange  power  which 
the  anticipation  of  future  happiness  has  over  the  soul 
— how  it  can  people  the  most  bleak  and  desolate  path 
in  life  wiih  new  and  beautiful  creatures,  which  are  so 

near  akin  to  reality  that  the  heart  loves  to  dwell  upon 
K* 


250 


DICK  WILSON. 


them,  and  around  them  its  affections  linger  peacefully. 
Such  were  the  feelings  with  which  Mrs.  Wilson  and 
Eliza  were  awaiting  the  admission  of  the  son  and 
brother  to  the  bar,  and  such  were  the  feelings  and  the 
hopes  which  he  was  straining  every  nerve  to  meet, 
and  for  the  accomplishment  of  which  he  had  toiled  for 
many  years.  Their  happiness  was  the  light  and  life 
of  his  existence — the  centre  about  which  all  his  hopes 
clustered.  Amongst  those  who  were  lovely,  to  him 
they  were  the  loveliest,  and  every  image  which  his  im- 
agination could  paint  was  imperfect  without  them. 

One  day,  while  Dick  was  standing  at  the  door  of 
the  office,  he  observed  a stranger  alighting  from  a gig 
in  front  of  Mr.  J acobs’  hotel ; and  as  Sam  was  about 
to  drive  the  horse  to  the  stable,  he  heard  the  gentle- 
man say  that  he  should  probably  remain  a few  days, 
and  wished  to  have  good  care  taken  of  the  horse.  He 
was  apparently  thirty -five  years  of  age,  with  form  and 
features  finely  developed.  For  several  days  he  was 
seen  passing  through  the  streets,  and  was  not  known  to 
have  spoken  to  any  one  but  Mr.  Jacobs  since  he  en- 
tered the  village.  It  was  supposed  at  first  that  he 
was  a collecting  merchant  from  Philadelphia,  but  that 
opinion  soon  passed  away,  and  his  business  for  the 
time  was  unknown.  On  the  third  day  after  his  arri- 
val, Mr.  Jacobs  met  Dick  in  the  street,  and  spoke  of 
the  singularity  of  his  guest,  and  remarked,  at  the  same . 
time,  that  although  he  appeared  to  have  no  business, 


THE  DEOYER’S  GRAVE. 


251 


yet  his  opinion  was  that  he  had  some  very  important 
business. 

“Do  you  know  his  name,  Mr.  Jacobs?”  inquired 
Dick. 

“ Yes ; his  name  is  Gilmore.” 

“ Where  is  he  from?” 

“From  one  of  the  back  counties  of  the  State.” 

“ Have  you  any  idea  of  the  nature  of  his  business?” 
“I  have,  but  I cannot  name  it.” 

“ What  has  brought  Stevens  and  Judge  L about 

here  so  much  for  two  or  three  days?” 

“ I don’t  know ; but  it  seems  to  me  that  gentleman’s 
presence  troubles  them.  Stevens  asked  me  his  name 
yesterday,  and  when  I told  him  it  was  Gilmore,  he 
turned  as  white  as  a cloth,  and  I have  not  seen  him 
about  since.  If  I am  not  mistaken,  Wilson,  this  man 
will  reveal  his  business  to  some  one  before  he  leaves.” 
There  was  nothing  in  this  to  excite  Dick’s  curiosity ; 
for,  as  yet,  he  had  nothing  on  which  he  could  base  an 

interesting  conjecture;  and  he  was  not  so  much  ac- 

. 

customed  to  attend  to  the  concerns  of  others,  as  many 
were  by  whom  he  was  surrounded. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  evening,  Mr.  Jacobs  called 
on  Dick,  informing  him  that  the  stranger  wished  to 
see  him. 

“How  does  he  come  to  want  me?”  inquired  Dick. 
“He  stated  to  me  confidentially,  Mr.  Wilson,  that 
he  had  business  of  importance,  which  required  the 


252 


DICK  WILSON. 


assistance  of  a lawyer,  and  wished  me  to  recommend 
him  to  the  best  one  in  the  village,  and  I referred  him 
to  you.” 

“Iam  certainly  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Jacobs,” 
replied  Dick,  “but  did  you  tell  him  that  I was  not  yet 
admitted  ?” 

“ I did,  Mr.  Wilson,  and  also  told  him  when  you 
would  be  admitted.” 

Dick  immediately  started,  wondering  what  this  un- 
explained thing  could  mean.  As  he  entered  Mr.  Ja- 
cobs’ bar-room,  he  observed  Stevens  amongst  others, 
and  he  passed  on  to  the  parlor,  where  he  was  intro- 
duced to  the  stranger.  After  a few  moments’  conver- 
sation, in  which  it  plainly  appeared  that  the  stranger 
was  a gentleman,  he  asked  Mr.  Wilson  to  accompany 
him  to  his  room,  which  he  did,  and  when  seated,  he 
said, — 

“ Mr.  Wilson,  do  you  know  the  construction  of  this 
house?” 

“ I do  know  something  about  it,”  said  Dick. 

“Is  there  any  danger  that  we  will  be  overheard?” 

“ I think  there  is  not,  sir.” 

“ My  business,”  said  the  gentleman, “ is  very  import- 
ant, and  if  it  were  known,  all  my  hopes,and  plans  in 
finding  my  father’s  grave,  would  be  frustrated.” 

“ Did  you  say  finding  your  father's  grave  ?” 

“Yes,  Mr.  Wilson,  I have  reason  to  suppose  that 
the  remains  of  my  father  are  in  this  vicinity.  I have 


THE  DROVER’S  GRAVE. 


253 


been  for  two  weeks  in  a neighboring  village,  and  I 
have  learned  enough  there  to  assure  me  that  there  can 
be  no  doubt  about  it ; but  the  difficulty  will  be  to  find 
sufficient  evidence  to  point  out  the  grave  and  the  mur- 
derer of  my  father.” 

“ How  long  is  it,  sir,”  said  Dick,  “ since  your  father 
disappeared  ?” 

“ About  twenty-five  years.” 

“ What  was  his  business  ?” 

“ He  was  engaged  in  driving  cattle,  sir.” 

“ Ah!  a drover,  a drover?”  said  Dick,  abstractedly. 
“Do  you  know  a man  named  Stevens,  in  this  vil- 
lage, Mr.  Wilson  ?”  said  the  stranger. 

“Yes  sir,  very  well.” 

“ What  is  his  character?” 

“ Bad  enough,  sir.  I hardly  think  it  could  be  worse.” 
“ Do  you  know  anything  of  his  having  kept  a pub- 
lic house  here  at  one  time  ?” 

“ I have  understood  that  he  did,  sir,  and  I have  un- 
derstood that, a drover  disappeared  from  his  house 
under  very  suspicious  circumstances.” 

“Yes  sir,”  replied  the  stranger,  “I  have  no  doubt 
but  he  knows  very  well  where  my  father  is  sleeping.” 
“ Have  you  evidence  in  reference  to  your  father, 
that  will  show  clearly  that  he  was  really  here  ?” 

“ Oh  yes,  sir,  that  can  be  substantiated ; and  also 
that  he  had  five  thousand  dollars  m money.” 

“Well,”  said  Dick,  “I  have  no  doubt  but  Stevens 


254 


DICK  WILSON. 


has  your  father’s  money ; but  the  difficulty  will  be  to 
get  at  it.  He  has  a few  friends  here,  and  they  will  do 
everything  in  their  power  to  aid  in  concealment.  I 
believe  that  Stevens  suspects  you  now.  I know  of 
no  other  way  in  which  to  account  for  his  strange  con- 
duct since  your  appearance  here.  I think  the  best 
way  to  develop  the  matter,  would  be  to  create  a little 
suspicion ; and  if  you  should  think  this  best,  it  must 
be  done  with  great  care.  I would  advise  you  to  go  to 

Judge  L , who  is  one  of  Stevens’  warmest  friends, 

and  just  open  the  matter  to  him  as  you  did  to  me, 
and  if  he  knows  anything  about  it — and  I should  not 
be  surprised  if  he  did — he  will  be  putting  Stevens  on 
his  guard  at  once,  and  something,  if  they  are  well 
watched,  may  leak  out.  You  must  be  careful  not  to 

let  Judge  L know  that  you  have  said  a word  to 

me  on  the  subject.” 

The  stranger  thought  that  this  might  be  the  best 
way,  and  after  a good  deal  of  conversation  in  refer- 
ence to  the  plan  to  be  pursued,  he  stated  to  Dick,  that 
he  would  then  pay  him  one  hundred  dollars,  and  in 
the  event  of  his  success,. he  would  pay  him  a thousand 
beside. 

The  stranger  then  asked  him  if  Mr.  Jacobs  might 
be  let  into  the  secret  with  safety,  and  was  informed 
that  he  could,  and  that  he  might  be  of  service ; and 
when  the  thing  was  made  known  to  him,  he  at  once 
agreed  to  find  a person,  who  for  a few  days  would 


THE  DROVER’S  GRAVE. 


255 


watch,  every  movement  that  Stevens  and  Judge  L 

would  make. 

The  next  morning,  as  early  as  it  was  proper  to  do 
so,  the  stranger  called  upon  Judge  L , and  dis- 

closed his  business  to  him.  As  might  have  been  ex- 
pected, he  defended  Stevens,  and  assured  the  stranger 
that  there  were  few  men  who  would  be  so  unlikely  to 
do  an  act  of  that  kind  as  he. 

“I  have  been  acquainted  with  him  for  many  years,” 
said  the  Judge,  “ and  I ought  to  know  him  very  well, 
and  I think  I do.  Now,  my  dear  sir,  let  me  tell  you, 
that  if  you  breathe  such  a suspicion  to  any  other  indi- 
vidual in  this  community,  you  will  be  in  danger  of 
your  life.  There  is  a young  man  here,  named  Wil- 
son, who  is  a warm  friend  of  Mr.  Stevens,  and  if  it 
was  known  to  him  that  you  had  any  such  suspicion, 
he  would  excite  a mob  against  you  at  once.” 

He  had  been  sufficiently  apprised  of  the  relation  ex- 
isting between  Mr.  Stevens  and  Judge  L , and  only 

replied  to  him,  that  he  had  gone  too  far  already  to 
stop,  adding — 

“lam  not  much  afraid  of  mobs  or  decrepid  rumsell- 
ers ; and  I have  but  little  confidence  in  their  friends.” 

Immediately  after  he  left  the  house,  Judge  L 

was  in  the  street,  and  soon  black  Felix  was  seen  hov- 
ering in  his  rear.  The  Judge  seemed  to  understand 
his  business,  and  so  did  Felix ; for  he  also  had  some- 
thing important  to  accomplish.  At  length  the  Judge 


256 


DICK  WILSON. 


came  up  with  Stevens,  and  Felix  passed  them  just  as 
they  had  designated  a place  where  in  an  hour  after 
they  had  appointed  to  meet.  Smith’s  tavern  was  one 
of  those  old  dilapidated  affairs  which  had  grown  with 
the  times,  until  twenty  additions  had  been  made  to  it. 
In  such  a place  as  this,  secrets  were  not  very  safe,  and 
especially  as  every  one  of  the  partitions  in  the  house 
was  abundantly  supplied  with  knot-holes.  Felix  was 
shrewd,  and  he  made  his  appointment  with  himself  at 
the  same  time,  in  an  adjoining  room,  which  Smith 
had  used  to  store  away  those  whom  .he  did  not  wish 
to  be  seen  about  his  premises.  Into  this  place,  half 
an  hour  earlier  than  the  appointment,  Felix,  without 
any  difficulty,  found  his  way,  and  patiently  awaited 
the  arrival  of  those  in  whom,  just  then,  he  was  won- 
derfully interested.  At  length  they  came,  and  the 
first  thing  he  heard  was, — 

“ Stevens,  fill  that  glass  up.  You  must  not  take 
this  matter  to  heart,  you  are  in  no  danger.  Heavens 
on  earth  ! they  can’t  find  evidence  to  convict  you  now. 
Drink  and  be  merry,  and  let  the  drover’s  son  go  to  the 
devil.” 

“ Do  you  think,”  said  Stevens,  “ that  there  is  any 
possible  danger  of  this  matter  getting  out  ?” 

“ It  can’t  possibly  get  out,”  returned  the  Judge, 
“ unless  either  you  or  myself  reveal  it ; for  no  other 
living  soul  knows  the  facts  concerning  the  drover’s 
disappearance.” 


THE  DROVER’S  GRAVE. 


257 


“It  was  a devilish  good  thing  for  me,”  said  Stevens, 
“ that  he  went  to  you  for  advice ; but  I suspect  Wil- 
son knows  something  about  the  matter.” 

“I  don’t  think  he  does,”  said  the  Judge;  “I  was 
apprehensive  that  he  might  call  on  him,  and  I warned 
him  against  doing  so,  assuring  him  that  Wilson  was 
one  of  your  best  friends.” 

As  they  became  warmer  over  Smith’s  whiskey,  they 
talked  with  less  reason,  until  they  had  made  a full 
revelation  of  the  important  facts  in  the  case.  As  they 
were  about  ready  to  leave,  Stevens  said, — 

“ I believe  Dick  Wilson  has  been  consulted  in  this 
matter  before  you  were.  I saw  Jacobs  taking  him 
into  his  parlor  last  night.  I wish  to  the  Lord,  Judge, 
we  were  rid  of  that  fellow.” 

“Is  there  any  danger,  Stevens,  that  the  grave  can 
be  discovered  ?” 

“Oh  no,  Judge;  I am  not  afraid  of  that — the  lot 
will  never,  in  all  probability,  be  occupied,  and  there 
is  a pile  of  stones  resting  on  it  now,  which  look  as  if 
they  had  been  always  there.” 

“It  will  be  best,  as  soon  as  possible,  to  find  out 
whether  or  not  Wilson  knows  anything  of  the  mat- 
ter.” 

“ How  am  I to  do  this?” 

“ Go  and  call  on  him  at  the  office.” 

“ Will  you  go  with  me  ?” 

“ No ; if  I did  he  would  suspect  us  at  once ; but  go 
17 


258 


DICK  WILSON. 


yourself,  and  I will  go  bail  that  be  will  be  civil  as  long 
as  you  are.” 

After  drinking  again,  these  worthies  started  into 
the  street,  apparently  unconscious  that  they  had  been 
unravelling  a chain  of  facts,  pointing  to  a grave  which 
for  twenty-five  years  had  been  concealed,  and  point- 
ing out,  too,  the  guilty  individual.  Felix  at  once  car- 
ried the  result  of  his  eaves-dropping  to  Dick,  who  com- 
municated it  to  the  stranger.  The  matter  was  now 
plain  enough,  and  after  arrangements  of  a private  na- 
ture, for  future  proceedings  in  the  matter,  the  stranger 
visited  the  stone  pile,  under  which,  in  all  probability, 
his  father’s  remains  were  reposing,  and  left  the  village. 
This  was  a strange  matter  to  Dick,  and  he  did  not 
know  how  to  interpret  it ; but  evidently  it  had  placed 
his  enemies  in  his  power,  and  this  at  least  was  an  ad- 
vantage to  one  in  his  situation.  His  fee,  like  his  heart, 
was  at  once  divided  between  himself  and  his  mother ; 
and  this  signal  success  always  made  him  look  forward 
with  greater  earnestness  than  ever  to  his  admission  to 
the  bar.  His  intention  was,  that  the  case  should  be 
thoroughly  sifted,’ and  that  the  horrid  crime  should  be 
brought  to  light. 


CHAPTEK  XV. 


THE  GUILTY  TREMBLE. — DICK’S  PROSPECTS. 

“ Whose  daring  revels  shock  the  sight, 

When  vice  and  infamy  combine, 

When  drunkenness  and  crime  unite, 

And  every  sense  is  steeped  in  wine.” 

The  case  of  Mr.  Grilmore,  tlie  drover,  and  the  sin- 
gular revelations  which  had  so  recently  been  made  in 
reference  to  it,  seemed  to  excite  Dick  Wilson  intensely. 
It  was  not,  however,  the  hope  of  bringing  speedy  ven- 
geance upon  the  aged  criminal ; nor  yet  was  he  moved 
to  it  by  the  hope  of  personal  gain.  The  stranger  had 
deeply  enlisted  his  sympathy,  and  this,  in  connection 
with  the  yet  fresh  recollections  of  his  own  father,  who 
had  perished  at  the  hands  of  those  who  were  as  guilty 
as  Stevens,  moved  him  to  press  forward  in  an  investi- 
gation of  the  matter.  For  several  days  and  nights  he 
had  been  unusually  busy  in  running  over  the  pages  of 
musty-looking  volumes.  After  considerable  research, 
without  finding  much  that  was  applicable  to  the  case 
in  hand,  an  old  book,  containing  many  of  the  reports 
of  English  trials,  seemed  at  last  to  have  gained  com- 
plete mastery  over  him. 


260 


DICK  WILSON. 


The  reader,  even  under  ordinary  circumstances,  can 
find  subjects  of  deep  interest  in  these  reviews  of  legal 
lore,  for  with  much  native  courage  and  true  heroism 
of  soul,  they  present  also  the  dark  spots  in  human 
character.  In  the  persons  of  Emmet,  and  McNevins, 
and  the  Sheerers,  the  great  State  prisoners  of  the  re- 
bellion, arraigned  at  the  bar  of  English  authority,  they 
present  a galaxy  of  noble  names,  whose  melancholy 
history,  whose  premature  fall  by  civil  tyranny,  will 
be  cherished  and  reserved  for  all  time.  Then,  after 
the  lapse  of  years,  in  the  person  of  Warren  Hastings, 
is  brought  vividly  before  the  mind  the  princely  pris- 
oner and  the  power  of  those  splendid  intellects  by 
whom  he  was  impeached.  There,  too,  we  may  look 
into  the  English  prison,  contemplate  the  griefs  of  Lord 
William  Russell,  and  see  him  on  the  eve  of  his  execu- 
tion, without  stain  upon  his  character,  parting  with  his 
family,  and  commending  them  to  God.  There,  too, 
is  the  exhibition  of  crime,  in  all  its  grades  and  with 
all  its  aspects  of  wickedness,  clearly  and  forcibly  pre- 
sented to  the  mind,  revealing  the  fact  that  the  eye  of 
God  had  looked  upon  the  scene,  and  had  kept  here 
and  there  an  open  view  in  the  history  of  the  mur- 
derer. 

It  was  this  latter  class  of  recorded  facts  which  had 
the  power  to  rivet  Dick’s  attention  to  the  page,  and 
after  going  through  with  the  record  of  the  one  which 
had  arrested  his  attention,  he  said — “ This  is  remark- 


THE  GUILTY  TREMBLE. 


261 


able  : here  is  almost  a similar  case,”  and  added,  as  be 
commenced  pacing  the  floor — “ Both  these  cases  had 
their  origin  in  rum,  and  it  seems  as  if  God  had  in  both 
cases  forced  rum  to  become  the  revelator  of  its  own 
dangerous  character  and  hidden  wickedness.  God 
only  knows  how  long  the  heart-broken  widow  may 
have  watched  for  the  coming  back  of  her  husband  ; 
and  when  month  after  month  and  year  after  year  had 
passed  slowly  and  sorrowfully  away,  with  a hope 
wrapped  up  in  its  own  life-feeding  sources,  she  still 
looked  for  his  return- — -the  return  of  one  who  for 
twenty-five  years  has  been  sleeping  within  two  hun- 
dred yards  from  where  I am  now  sitting,  and  who  will 
never  again  re-enter  that  home.  The  widow  is  dead, 
and  now  the  son,  guided  by  the  uncertain  and  discon- 
nected reports  which  reached  the  far-off  home,  has 
come  in  search  of  the  father’s  grave ; and  almost  mir- 
aculously, by  the  singular  coincidence  of  rum  betray- 
ing itself,  the  facts  have  been  revealed,  and  his  feet 
have  pressed  the  soil  which  for  a quarter  of  a century 
has  rested  upon  the  cold  bosom  of  his  father.” 

While  Dick  was  musing  upon  this  strange  affair,  a 
person  who  was  not  wholly  unexpected,  entered  the 
office.  It  was  Mr.  Stevens,  whose  coming,  by  the  re- 
port of  Felix,  the  eaves-dropper , was  almost  certain. 
He  entered  the  office  with  his  usual  lordly  air,  and 
with  his  accustomed  duplicity  inquired  for  Squire 
B . Dick,  in  quite  as  cool  a manner,  informed 


262 


DICK  WILSON. 


him  that  he  was  absent,  and  had  been  for  several  days. 
It  was  evident  enough  that  from  some  cause  or  other 
he  was  very  uneasy.  He  was  generally  pretty  well 
“ primed,”  and  there  were  times  when  brandy  couldn’t 
stagger  him. 

“ I am  very  sorry,  Mr.  Wilson,”  said  he,  quite  cour- 
teously, “that  Squire  B is  not  at  home — very 

sorry  indeed.  My  business  is  of  a pressing  nature,  and 
requires  immediate  attention.” 

“ Perhaps,”  replied  Dick,  “ I may  be  able  to  attend 

to  it  for  you.  Squire  B left  his  business  in  my 

care  until  he  should  return,  and  if  it  is  business  that  I 
can  do,  I will  attend  to  it  for  you.” 

“ Ah  ! yes,  I dare  say  you  would  ; but  you  couldn’t 
attend  to  it,  Mr.  Wilson.  It  is  very  important,  as  well 
as  strictly  confidential.  You  couldn’t  do  it.” 

“ Very  well,”  replied  Dick,  “then  it  will  be  best  for 
you  to  defer  it  until  he  returns,  as  he  gave  me  no  di- 
rections about  any  confidential  business.” 

“ When  will  he  be  home,  Mr.  Wilson  ?” 
“To-morrow,”  replied  Dick;  “and  as  soon  as  he 
comes,  I will  inform  him  of  your  anxiety.” 

“ Yes,”  continued  Mr.  Stevens,  “ I think  it  would 
be  best  to  wait  until  he  returns.  Important  matters, 
you  know,  ought  always  to  be  intrusted  to  old  heads, 
for  they  are  better  at  keeping  secrets,  when  it  is  ne- 
cessary to  do  so.” 

“ Certainly,”  replied  Dick,  “it  is  right  that  men  of 


THE  GUILTY  TKEMBLE. 


263 


experience  should  have  the  preference ; but  then  I 
don’t  know  that  experience  is  much  assistance  in  keep- 
ing secrets.  You  are  aware  of  the  fact,  no  doubt,  that 
in  some  way  or  other,  secrets  always  get  out,  and  the 
more  important  they  are,  the  surer  are  they  to  find  a 
leak  somewhere,  and  sometimes  those  whose  interests 
are  most  intimately  involved  cannot  keep  them.” 

“ That  ain’t  the  way  with  me,  Mr.  Wilson.  I can 
keep  a secret — I tell  you  I can.” 

“ That  may  be,  you  may  be  an  exception ; but  the 
general  law  of  secrets  is,  that  they  have  the  power  of 
self-transmission.  I have  been  engaged  this  morning 
in  looking  over  the  reports  of  English  law  trials,  and 
particularly  those  which  were  of  a criminal  character, 
and  I am  convinced  that  I might  have  taken  a very 
strong  position,  and  have  said  that  there  were  secrets, 
the  disclosure  of  which  would  subject  the  possessor  to 
the  most  severe  penalties  of  the  law,  and  that  notwith- 
standing they  would  betray  themselves.” 

“Now,  Mr.  Wilson,  no  man  need  tell  me  that  I 
couldn’t  keep  a secret.  When  I want  to  keep  a 
secret,  I tell  you  that  I can  do  it.” 

“Here  is  the  case,”  said  Dick,  “and  if  you  will 
spend  the  time  to  read  it,  I think  you  will  agree  with 
me. 

The  old  man  took  the  book  into  his  hand,  and  then 
took  off  his  spectacles,  and  wiping  them  with  a flourish 
of  dignity,  replaced  them.  He  straightened  himself 


264 


DICK  WILSON’. 


in  Ms  chair,  threw  one  leg  oyer  another,  and  resting 
his  elbow  upon  his  favorite  gold-headed  cane,  com- 
menced the  perusal  of  the  singular  case. 

In  the  meanwhile  Dick  had  placed  himself  in  a po- 
sition where  he  could  see  the  movement  of  every 
muscle  in  his  face.  Presently  he  saw  the  nervous 
agitation — the  relaxing  and  contracting  of  the  muscles 
• — the  involuntary  shudder.  His  cane  fell  to  the  floor, 
his  look  of  dignity  disappeared,  and  his  whole  counte- 
nance was  the  aspect  of  guilt,  without  a single  thing 
expressive  of  remorse.  At  length  he  finished,  and 
laying  down  the  book,  he  addressed  Dick : 

“ This  must  have  been  a hardened  villain,  but  then 
you  know  they  have  very  bad  men  in  England.  I 
have  never  been  there,  but  I have  always  heard  this, 
and  from  this  account  I should  think  it  was  true. 
Have  you  ever  heard 'of  a case  of  this  kind.  Mr.  Wil- 
son?” 

“I  have  heard  of  a great  many  instances,  Mr. 
Stevens,  where  murderers  to  all  appearance  had  suc- 
ceeded in  covering  up  their  tracks ; but  I must  con- 
fess that  I have  never  heard  of  but  one  case,  for  which 
this  in  all  its  leading  features,  as  well  as  in  most  of  its 
particulars,  seems  to  be  a parallel.” 

“ Was  that  in  England  ?” 

“ Oh  no,  sir;  it  was  in  this  country — purely  an 
American  tragedy.” 

“Indeed!  do  you  say  so?  I didn’t  think  there 


THE  GUILTY  TREMBLE. 


265 


were  such  bad  men  in  America.  In  what  State 
was  it  ?” 

“ In  the  State  in  which  we  are  residing,  sir.” 

“Was  the  man  who  committed  the  murder  a tavern 
keeper  ?” 

“Yes  sir,  he  was  at  the  time  he  committed  the 
crime,  and  I believe  he  continued  for  several  years 
after  to  sell  rum.” 

“ Was  the  man  whom  he  murdered  a drover  ?” 
“Yes  sir,  he  was,  and  I believe  he  came  from  one 
of  the  back  counties  of  this  State.’1 

“ Well,  of  course,  Mr.  Wilson,  he  has  been  executed, 
hasn’t  he  ?” 

“ Not  yet,  sir ; the  matter  has  never  been  made 
public,  and  there  are  circumstances  in  the  way  of  the 
prosecution  of  the  case  just  now.” 

“Ah!  Mr.  Wilson,  I suppose  the  evidence  is  want - 
ing 

“No  sir;  there  is  no  lack  of  evidence.” 

“ How  many  witnesses  are  there?” 

“ Only  one  that  could  be  relied  on.” 

11  How  did  the  thing  get  out  ?” 

“ The  walls  communicated  it.” 

“ Well,  Mr.  Wilson,  but  the  walls  couldn’t  tell  it. 

1 Mr.  Stevens,”  said  Dick,  while  he  looked  into  the 
eyes  of  the  guilty  man,  “I  will  tell  you  how  it  was 
made  known  : the  principal  and  the  witness  were  closet- 
ed together  to  confer  upon  the  plan  by  which  detection 
L 


266 


DICK  WILSON. 


might  be  avoided,  and  also  to  consult  on  the  ruin  of 
another , and  while  they  were  there  making  merry  over 
the  whiskey  which  was  furnished  for  the  occasion, 
they  betrayed  themselves.” 

“ You  say,  Mr.  Wilson,  they  were  planning  the  ruin 
of  another.” 

“ Yes  sir,  they  were  trying  to  drive  a young  man 
to  drinking  as  the  surest  way  to  effect  his  ruin.” 

“ When  did  this  happen  ?” 

“ I am  not  at  liberty  to  tell  you,  but  the  time  may 
come  when  all  restriction  shall  be  taken  away,  and 
then  I will  consider  it  my  duty  to  tell  you.” 

“Well,  thank  God,”  said  Mr.  Stevens,  “I  never 
murdered  any  person.  I used  to  keep  a tavern  here 
at  one  time,  and  there  were  some  good-for-nothing 
fellows  who  were  always  in  the  habit  of  lying  about 
my  house,  drinking,  and  who  died  there  at  last — two 
or  three  I think  in  my  bar-room ; but  nobody  would 
think  of  calling  that  murder — they  wouldn’t  in  these 
days,  anyhow.” 

“ They  ought  to  have  called  it  by  its  right  name,” 
said  Dick,  promptly,  “ for  certainly,  Mr.  Stevens,  those 
who  kill  with  rum,  for  a price , are  just  as  guilty  as 
those  who  use  a less  painful  mode,  and  they  should  be 
made  just  as  amenable  to  law.  I have  no  doubt  the 
time  will  come,  in  the  progress  of  civilization,  when 
the  man  who  kills  outright,  and . he  who  slowly  kills 
by  rum,  will  expiate  their  guilt  together.” 


THE  GUILTY  TREMBLE. 


267 


“Good  Heavens!”  exclaimed  Mr.  Stevens,  affecting 
great  surprise  ; “ young  man,  you  make  a wide  sweep.” 

“Ho  wider,”  replied  Dick,  “ than  the  principles  of 
justice  make  ; and  this  is,  or  ought  to  be,  the  founda- 
tion of  all  law.” 

“But  don’t  you  see,”  said  Mr.  Stevens,  with  a good 
deal  of  vehemence,  “that  you  involve  a very  large 
class  of  persons,  many  of  whom  are  wealthy  and  re- 
spectable.” 

“ Mr.  Stevens,  I have  nothing  to  do  with  involving 
them — -they  involve  themselves.  They  do  it  intelli- 
gently and  deliberately,  in  the  face  of  the  multiplied 
evidence  of  its  criminality,  and  they  carry  on  their 
work  when  they  know  certainly  that  they  are  accom- 
plishing the  ruin  of  those  with  whom  they  are  barter- 
ing. Wealth  ought  not  to  be  permitted  to  rise  supe- 
rior to  law,  and  no  business  ought  to  be  tolerated  in  a 
civilized  community,  the  effect  of  which  is  an  unmiti- 
gated curse.” 

“ Didn’t  you  say,  Mr.  Wilson,  that  nothing  was  yet 
known,  except  by  very  few,  of  the  case  you  men- 
tioned ?” 

“ Perhaps  I did,  sir  ; but  I ought  to  have  said,  that 
suspicion  had  always  rested  on  the  individual ; but 
that  until  very  recently  no  sufficient  evidence  could 
be  reached.” 

“ There  is  such  a witness  now — are  you  sure  of 
this?” 


268 


DICK  WILSOJST. 


“ Oh  yes,  sir ; I have  it  from  his  own  mouth.” 
a Do  you  think  an  individual  ought  to  be  punished 
for  a crime  committed  twenty -five  years  since  ?” 

11  Certainly  I do,  Mr.  Stevens.  It  is  said  that  it  is 
never  too  late  to  repent,  and  of  course  it  is  never  too 
late  to  afford  to  such  individuals  an  opportunity  to  do 
wrhat,  under  other  circumstances,  they  would  proba- 
bly never  do.  It  appears  to  me  that  one  example  of 
this  kind  would  have  a better  effect  upon  the  public 
mind  than  a great  many  examples  of  a different  char- 
acter.” 

“ Have  you  seen  Judge  L lately,  Mr.  Wilson  ?” 

“I  have  not.  I have  no  confidence  in  him,  and  I 
shun  him  rather  than  seek  his  presence.  He  is  the 
only  man  of  whom  I ever  felt  any  real  dread.” 

“ I think  he  is  your  friend,  and  you  could  very  easi- 
ly make  him  a warm  friend.” 

“ Mr.  Stevens,  you  know  better  than  that.  You 
know  that  I could  not  have  a more  bitter  enemy. 
You  know  that  it  would  be  a matter  of  delight  to  him 
if  he  could  ruin  me.  I hope  you  will  not  attempt  to 
deceive  me  in  this  manner.” 

“ I understand  you  intend  stopping  here  to  com- 
mence the  law.” 

“ That  is  my  intention,  sir ; and  I am  now  making 
arrangements  with  that  view.” 

“ I dare  say  you  will  find  it  very  pleasant  when  your 
family  come  here  to  reside.” 


THE  GUILTY  TREMBLE. 


269 


“ I hope  to  find  it  so,  sir,  and  I am  looking  forward 
to  that  event  with  a great  deal  of  pleasure.” 

After  muttering  some  apology  for  intrusion  upon 
time,  &c.,  the  old  man  left  the  office ; but  Dick  was 
assured  from  his  uneasy  manner  that  he  would  be 
back  again  before  long. 

He  had  come,  according  to  arrangement  with  Judge 

L , in  Smith’s  back-room,  to  sound  Dick,  in  order 

that  he  might  ascertain  whether  or  not  Mr.  Gilmore’s 
business  had  been  made  known  to  him.  This  he  had 
not  been  able  to  determine  ; but  the  singularity  of  the 
coincidence,  and  the  particulars  of  the  case  to  which 
Dick  had  cited  him,  were  so  much  like  the  one  in 
wdiich  he  was  the  chief  actor,  that  guilt  was  plainly 
visible  both  in  his  countenance  and  actions. 

He  intimated  his  own  friendship,  and  proclaimed 

that  of  Judge  L for  this  young  man,  when  it  was 

known  to  all,  that  they  were  seeking  his  destruction, 
and  the  only  reason  for  it  was,  that  at  their  command 
he  had  refused  to  destroy  himself.  Dick,  after  some 
reflection,  resolved  that  if  he  came  back  again,  he 
would  at  once  free  his  mind  from  any  doubt  on  the 
subject,  by  confronting  the  criminal  with  the  evidence 
of  his  guilt.  He  said  to  himself — “ There  can  be  no 
harm  in  doing  so.  Felix  is  trusty,  and  Stevens  is 
just  what  his  countenance  betokens — a human  fiend . 
He  has  lived  and  wallowed  in  the  filth  of  drunkard - 
making , until  humanity  has  departed  from  his  constb 


270 


DICK  WILSOX. 


tution.  He  lias  committed  every  sort  of  crime,  includ- 
ing the  blackest ; and  this  solitary  instance  of  mur- 
der, while  it  is  the  only  one  of  which  the  law  takes 
cognizance,  is  far  from  being  alone.  The  one  was 
against  the  law , because  the  weapon  was  not  licensed. 
The  rest  were  according  to  law , because  the  instru- 
ment was  legalized  for  a stipulated  price.  Amazing 
inconsistency!”  thought  Hick,  utliat  legislation  has 
been  so  blind  upon  this  subject,  as  to  privilege  one 
class  where  anothor  has  been  proscribed  ; and  especial- 
ly when  the  latter,  is  infinitely  the  worst,  for  there  is 
hardly  a crime  that  can  be  mentioned,  which  does  not 
come  forth  as  spontaneously  from  legalized  rumselling 
as  vegetation  comes  from  the  earth.” 

In  the  village  of  B this  fact  was  often  demon- 

strated. The  wrecks  of  many  families  who  had  been 
happy,  were  still  there,  and  their  children  either  beg- 
gars or  thieves. 

Hick  had  been  busily  engaged  in  reviewing  his 
studies,  preparatory  to  examination  and  admission. 
The  visit  of  Mr.  Gilmore  had  to  some  extent  inter- 
rupted him  ; yet  after  his  departure,  he  seemed  to  ap- 
ply himself  with  greater  interest  than  ever.  Mr.  Wat- 
son, with  several  other  friends,  who  were  acquainted 
with  his  circumstances,  and  who  had  urged  him  to  lo- 
cate there,  offered  him  every  facility  in  their  power  in 
making  arrangements  for  the  comfortable  removal  of 
his  family.  In  all  the  arrangements  which  were  made, 


THE  GUILTY  TREMBLE. 


271 


Mr.  Watson  took  a leading  part.  Without  Dick’s 
knowledge,  he  had  been  for  some  time  engaged  in 
fitting  np  one  of  his  own  houses  for  the  family. . It 
was  a beautiful  location — one  which  Dick  had  often 
seen,  and  where  he  imagined  that  himself  and  his 
dear  ones  might  be  happy.  He  had  never  said  a word 
to  Mr.  Watson  about  it,  yet  he  had  often  half  made  up 
his  mind  that  he  would  do  so. 

One  afternoon  Mr.  Watson’s  little  boy  came  into 
the  office,  with  a request  that  Dick  should  come  and 
take  tea  with  them  that  evening,  and  as  the  little  fel- 
low was  leaving,  he  said  : 

“Mr.  Wilson,  what  shall  I tell  mother?” 

“ Tell  her  I will  be  there,  Charley,”  was  the  reply. 
In  a very  short  time  Mr.  Stevens  returned,  and  in 
a more  abstracted  manner  than  in  the  morning,  re- 
peated the  same  question,  inquiring  for  Squire  B . 

Dick  informed  him,  as  in  the  morning,  that  he  was  not 
at  home. 

“Ah!”  said  he,  “I  believe  you  did  tell  me  so. 
That  was  a most  remarkable  case  you  spoke  of  this 
morning,  and  I would  like  very  much  to  know  the 
particulars  of  it.  I don’t  know  what  makes  me  feel 
so  much  interest  in  this  matter.” 

“It  is  not  strange,”  said  Dick,  “that  you  should 
feel  interested.  It  is  rather  natural.  Two  cases  of 
this  kind  so  nearly  alike  are  enough,  under  ordinary 
circumstances,  to  stir  up  one’s  curiosity.” 


272 


DICK  WILSON. 


“ That’s  a fact,  Mr.  Wilson.  My  curiosity  has  al- 
ways been  very  great,  and  I never  knew  what  to  call 
it  before.  Curiosity ! — that’s  it  exactly,  and  I feel  bet- 
ter satisfied  now.  This  curiosity  is  a powerful  thing, 
when  it  is  once  awakened  by  such  awful  things.  I 
will  be  obliged  to  you,  if  you  will  tell  me  some  of  the 
particulars  of  this  case.” 

“ If  you  will  walk  out  with  me,”  said  Dick,  “ I will 
tell  you  enough  to  satisfy  you  that  I am  in  earnest.” 
Mr.  Stevens  readily  consented  to  do  so,  and  off  they 
went.  Dick  took  it  upon  himself  to  lead  in  the  walk, 
and  directed  their  steps  by  a circuitous  route  to  the 
stone  pile.  Just  as  they  came  alongside  of  it,  Mr.  Ste- 
vens said,  with  signs  of  impatience : 

“Mr.  Wilson,  don’t  forget  your  promise,  for  I shall 
be  offended  if  you  do  not  satisfy  me.” 

“Let  us  set  down  here,”  said  Dick. 

“ I would  rather  not,”  was  the  reply. 

“ Why  not  ?”  quickly  inquired  Dick. 

“ It  is  unpleasant.” 

“ What  makes  it  unpleasant  ?” 

“ I don’t  know.” 

“ Have  you  ever  been  here  before  ?” 

“ Many  a time,”  was  the  trembling  reply. 

“ Have  you  been  here  on  an j particular  occasion  for 
a particular  purpose  ?” 

“ Not  that  I can  recollect.” 

“ Your  memory  must  be  treacherous  indeed.  Does 


THE  GUILTY  TREMBLE. 


273 


not  the  father  of  Mr.  Gilmore  lie  beneath  this  pile  of 
stones  ? You  surely  cannot  have  forgotten  the  night 
on  which  you  bore  that  lifeless  body  to  this  spot,  and 
here  interred  it.” 

Mr.  Stevens  attempted  to  speak,  but  he  could  not 
articulate  a single  word,  and  Dick  continued : 

u You  have,  without  cause,  sought  my  destruction, 
and  here  now,  poor  old  man,  you  stand  trembling  be- 
fore me,  in  the  presence  of  the  rude  sepulchre  which 
contains  the  evidence  of  your  guilt.  I know  the 
whole  of  this  matter.  Are  you  satisfied?  Say,  are 
you  satisfied?  Aged  criminal!  your  sins  have  found 
you  out.” 

Dick  at  once  directed  his  steps  to  Mr.  Watson’s 
house,  having  left  the  guilty  man  standing  in  horror 
near  the  grave.  As  he  entered,  his  excitement  was 
at  once  apparent  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  W atson,  and  they 
interrogated  him  as  to  the  cause.  He  revealed  the 
whole  matter  to  them ; as  well  as  his  arrangements 
which  were  made  with  Mr.  Gilmore’s  son  in  reference 
to  the  prosecution  of  the  case.  Mr.  Watson  express- 
ed his  regret  that  anything  in  reference  to  the  matter 
had  been  made  public  until  after  his  admission,  add- 
ing, that  if  Felix  could  be  bought  in  one  case,  he 

could  also  in  another,  and  that  if  Judge  L and 

Stevens  together  could  ascertain  who  the  witness  was, 
that  it  would  be  impossible  to  get  at  the  facts. 

After  tea,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Watson  asked  Dick  to  walk 
L*  18 


274 


DICK  WILSOK. 


• out  with  them.  They  led  the  way  and  soon  arrived 
at  the  very  house  which,  before  any  other  in  the  vil- 
lage, Dick  would  have  selected  as  his  residence.  As 
they  entered,  he  saw  that  everything  was  in  readiness 
for  the  reception  of  a family.  It  was  plainly  yet 
pleasantly  furnished  throughout,  and  Dick  thought 
even  without  an  inhabitant,  it  had  still  an  air  of  cheer- 
fulness about  it.  After  they  had  examined  the  house 
through,  and  Dick  had  expressed  himself  freely  in 
reference  to  its  pleasant  appearance,  Mr.  Watson  said : 

“ It  is  a pleasure  to  me  to  inform  you,  Mr.  Wilson, 
that  this  house  has  been  fitted  up  for  yourself,  and  it 
will  afford  myself  and  family  much  pleasure  to  see 
you  and  your  mother,  your  sister  and  brother,  after 
the  severity  of  the  trials  through  which  you  have 
passed,  ouce  more  in  the  enjoyment  of  peace  and  hap- 
piness.” 

“ Richard,”  said  Mrs.  Watson,  “ I think  you  will  yet 
see  pleasant  days,  and  I would  now  advise  you  to  lay 
off  that  melancholy  expression  of  countenance.  Your 
mother  ought  not  to  see  it,  for  it  will  represent  to  ber 
a canker  at  the  root,  and  may  bring  unnecessary  sad- 
ness to , her  heart.” 

“Ah!”  said  Dick,  with  a painful  smile,  “the  ex- 
treme of  ambition  and  the  extreme  of  poverty,  with 
an  absolute  dependence  on  the  kindness  of  others,  is 
hard  to  endure.  But  I will  try  to  wear  it  off,  and  I will 
struggle  to  show  you  that  I appreciate  your  kindness.” 


CHAPTER  XYI. 


THE  PLOT. — THE  VICTIM. 

“ What  dire  necessities  on  every  hand, 

Our  art,  our  strength,  our  fortitude  require ! 

Of  foes  incessant,  what  a numerous  hand 
Against  this  little  throb  of  life  conspire  l" 

As  Mr.  Watson  had  suggested,  Dick  had  acted  very 
much  against  his  own  interest  and  the  ends  of  justice, 
in  making  any  revelation  whatever  to  Mr.  Stevens. 
The  matter,  with  the  manner  of  its  discovery,  soon  be- 
came public,  and,  worst  of  all,  Felix  was  gone,  and  no 
one  could  give  any  account  of  him.  There  was  no 
doubt  in  the  minds  of  the  better  portion  of  the  com- 
munity in  reference  to  the  correctness  of  the  report, 
and  if  there  had  been,  the  sudden  disappearance  of 
Felix  would  at  once  have  removed  it.  This  was  a 
singular  advantage  gained  over  Dick  by  Mr.  Stevens 
and  his  friends,  and  although  Mr.  Jacobs,  who  was 
himself  a rumseller,  declared  that  Felix  had  commu- 
nicated these  things  as  facts,  the  cry  of  slander  was 
notwithstanding  raised  against  him. 

After  the  disappearance  of  Felix,  Dick  at  once  wrote 
to  Mr.  Gilmore,  informing  him  of  the  fact,  and  re- 


276 


DICK  WILSON. 


questing  him  to  come  on  immediately,  that  the  grave 
might  be  opened.  While  this,  if  the  body  were  found 
there,  would  relieve  Dick  in  the  mind  of  every  one 
from  the  suspicion  of  slander,  it  would  not  necessarily 
convict  Mr.  Stevens  of  the  crime  of  which  he  was  no 
no  doubt  guilty.  In  the  meantime  the  influence  of 

Mr.  Stevens  and  Judge  L and  their  friends  was 

made  to  bear  upon  him  with  as  much  severity  as  pos- 
sible, and  every  opportunity  was  improved  to  injure 
his  feelings  and  prejudice  his  interests.  Even  the 
venerable  distiller,  who  had  presided  at  the  rum  meet- 
ing, and  who  had  been  such  a signal  blessing  to  that 
community,  by  affording  them  a market  in  which  the 
necessaries  and  the  happiness  of  life  might  be  exchanged 
for  rum — he  too  was  awake,  and  ready  in  any  but  a 
legal  way,  to  wipe  this  suspicion  from  the  craft. 

It  was  now  observed  that  Mr.  Stevens  strutted  the 
streets  more  pompously  than  ever  before,  and  as  often 
as  possible  took  occasion  to  pass  the  office  of  Squire 

B , not  neglecting  to  cast  a threatening  look  at 

Dick  when  he  met  him. 

In  a short  time  Mr.  Gilmore  arrived,  and  arrange- 
ments were  at  once  made  to  open  the  grave.  Many 
persons  were  collected  to  witness  the  result,  and  every 
one  present  trembled  with  intense  anxiety.  Stevens 
was  present  and  stood  as  near  the  spot  as  he  could 
possibly  get. 

u These  stones,”  said  the  old  grave-digger,  as  he 


THE  PLOT. — THE  VICTIM. 


277 


commenced  liis  work,  “have  not  laid  here  as  they 
now  are  for  the  twentieth  part  of  twenty -five  years.” 
This  at  once  created  the  suspicion,  that  if  it  was  in 
fact  a grave,  some  person  had  recently  disturbed  it, 
and  if  so,  its  occupant  had  undoubtedly  been  removed. 
The  stones  were  soon  cleared  away,  and  the  work,  to 
all  appearance,  ready  to  be  commenced  in  earnest.  It 
was  now  a matter  of  surprise  to  many  that  the  old 
man  hesitated  to  commence  his  work,  and  some  one 
in  the  crowd  called  out — 

“Jacob,  why  don’t  you  commence  digging?” 

“ It’s  no  use,”  he  replied  shaking  his  head,  “ for  this 
here  spot  has  been  worked  on  very  lately,”  and  pick- 
ing up  from  the  earth  something  that  attracted  his 
notice,  two  or  three  rusty  buttons  were  shown,  and  it 
was  manifest  enough  that  this  relic  had  not  been  long 
exposed  to  the  action  of  the  atmosphere.  Jacob  at 
once  handed  the  buttons  to  Mr.  Gilmore,  and  said : 

“ I will  go  down  to  the  bottom,  if  you  say  so  ; but 
whatever  may  have  been  here,  it  is  now  gone,  and  we 
will  not  find  what  might  have  been  found  a few  weeks 
since.” 

Some  thought  it  was  best  to  give  up  the  search,  and 
others,  encouraged  by  what  was  already  found,  ad- 
vised to  the  prosecution  of  it.  The  grave-digger  per- 
severed until  he  had  got  to  the  depth  of  two  feet, 
which  proved  to  be  the  bottom  of  a hastily  made 
grave. 


278 


DICK  WILSON. 


“Now,”  said  he,  “ I am  down  at  the  bottom.” 

“ What  do  yon  think?”  said  Mr.  Gilmore.  “ Has 
this  been  the  grave  of  a human  being?” 

“Oh,  there  is  no  doubt  of  it,”  said  Jacob. 

“ Have  you  ever  opened  a grave  before?” 

“Yes  sir,  many  a time.” 

“What  has  been  their  appearance  usually?” 

“Just  what  you  see  here,  sir.” 

“ How  long  do  you  think  it  has  been  since  this  grave 
was  opened?” 

“ Not  over  a month,  sir,  and  I should  hardly  think 
as  long  as  that.  You  see  it  has  been  nicely  done ; 
and  before  I commenced  lifting  a stone,”  said  Jacob, 
“I  knew  what  had. been  done  here;  and  when  the 
stones  were  removed,  I found  that  the  surface  had 
been  thickly  covered  with  fresh  grass  seed,  which  has 
not  yet  began  to  sprout.  There  has  been  foul  play 
here.  I don’t  know  who  did  it ; but  there  has  been  a 
dead  body  put  here,  and  it’s  very  likely  that  the  same 
hands  that  put  it  here  have  taken  it  away.” 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Gilmore  advanced  to  where 

Mr.  Stevens  and  Judge  L. were  standing,  and 

said  in  the  hearing  of  all  present : 

“ Mr.  Stevens,  I have  come  from  a distance  to  find 
the  remains  of  my  father,  who,  I have  no  doubt,  fell 
by  your  hand.  You  have  managed  to  buy  and  send 
away  the  only  witness  by  whom  this  fact  could  have 
been  established,  and  then,  to  elude  detection,  you 


THE  PLOT. — THE  VICTIM. 


279 


have  rifled  the  grave,  and  stolen  the  evidence  of  your 
crime  to  some  other  hiding  place.  Before  I left  here, 
I was  fully  aware  of  your  guilt.  I called  upon  Judge 

L , your  friend,  who  is  standing  by  your  side,  and 

who  knows  that  you  are  guilty,  and  he  warned  me 
against  Mr.  Wilson,  as  being  your  bosom  friend,  and 
persevered  in  proclaiming  your  innocence ; and  yet 
on  the  same  day  he  was  closeted  with  you,  and  giving 
you  counsel  how  to  conceal  your  guilt.  I am  as  well 
satisfied  of  your  guilt  as  if  I had  found  the  remains 
of  my  father  in  this  grave.” 

Mr.  Gilmore  consulted  nearly  all  the  negroes  in  the 
place  in  reference  to  Felix  ; but  even  the  philosophic 
Sam  could  give  no  intelligent  account  of  him,  farther 
than  that  he  had  seen  him  ride  out  of  town  on  one 
of  Mr.  Stevens’  fast  horses.  After  several  unavailing 
attempts  to  get  a clue  to  the  whereabouts  of  Felix, 
Mr.  Gilmore  resolved  to  give  up  the  search  and  go 
home.  He  saw  the  embarrassing  position  in  which 
Dick  was  placed,  and  heard,  during  his  sojourn  in  the 
village,  threats  of  prosecution  for  slander.  In  view 
of  these  things,  and  to  raise  the  spirits  of  this  young 
man,  he  assured  and  re-assured  him  of  his  entire  con- 
fidence in  him,  and  intimated  the  possibility  of  some- 
thing yet  being  known  which  might  set  the  matter 
right.  He  assured  him  that  so  far  as  a prosecution 
was  concerned,  there  was  not  the  least  probability 
of  anything  of  the  kind,  and  if  it  should  ’take  place, 


280 


DICK  WILSON. 


said  Le,  u I will  stand  between  you  and  your  ene- 
mies.” 

The  time  when  Dick  expected  to  be  admitted  was 
near  at  hand,  and  this  matter  had  so  confounded  him 
that  he  was  far  from  being  in  tune  for  it.  Gradually, 
however,  as  it  approached,  he  seemed  to  recover  from 
the  mortification  which  the  placing  himself  so  com- 
pletely in  the  power  of  these  reckless  men,  had  pro- 
duced. 

The  day  at  length  came,  on  which  he  expected  to 
be  admitted  to  the  bar,  and  commence  an  active  ex- 
istence. On  the  Saturday  previous,  he  had  received 
a letter  from  his  mother,  and  also  one  from  Mrs.  Liv- 
ingston. These  letters  were  full  of  kindness,  and 
both  congratulated  him  upon  the  noble  manner  in 
which  he  had  contended  with  poverty.  The  one  from 
his  mother  was  peculiarly  dear  to  him,  for  in  it  he  saw 
how  entirely  and  how  confidingly  the  little  household 
were  leaning  upon  him.  It  expressed  the  joy  which 
they  felt  when  his  last  letter  informed  them  of  the 
kindness  of  Mr.  Watson  in  providing  for  their  com- 
fort, and  assured  him  of  the  comfort  and  happiness 
which  a re-union  of  those  domestic  ties,  which  had 
been  so  rudely  severed,  would  bring  to  their  hearts. 
The  expression  of  love,  the  spirit  by  which  home 
ought  ever  to  be  consecrated,  was  breathed  in  every 
line  and  embodied  in  every  word ; and  then  he  saw 
the  insignificance  of  his  persecutors,  some  of  whom 


THE  PLOT. — THE  VICTIM. 


281 


seemed  to  be  like  hungry  wolves,  waiting  for  their 
prey. 

In  the  village  of  B , the  admission  of  an  indi- 

vidual to  the  bar  was  by  no  means  an  every-day  occur- 
rence, and  hence  an  event  of  that  kind  was  looked  for 
with  a good  deal  of  curiosity,  and  in  this  instance  it 
was  more  than  usually  intense. 

At  length  the  old  court-house  bell  was  rung,  and 
the  house  was  soon  filled  up,  and  just  as  the  crier  had 
finished  the  sentence,  “God  save  the  commonwealth!” 
Dick  and  his  preceptor  entered  together.  After  seat- 
ing himself  by  the  counsel-board,  and  exchanging 
meaning  glances  with  several  of  his  friends  who  made 
out  to  catch  his  eye,  he  turned  to  survey  the  gathering, 
which  was  unusually  large.  The  first  person  who  at- 
tracted his  attention  was  Horace  Stevens.  He  felt 
himself  to  be  prepared  for  all  the  legal  and  honorable 
requirements  of  that  day.  He  regarded  himself  as 
about  taking  a position  in  society  which  would  afford 
him  an  opportunity  to  show  himself  worthy  of  the 
confidence  which  had  been  reposed  in  him. 

After  the  tedious  charge  to  the  grand  jury  — in 
which  rumselling  was  not  hinted  at — they  retired  to 
analyze  the  criminality  of  the  county,  and  find  some- 
thing for  lawyers  to  do.  Squire  B rose  and  ad- 

dressed himself  to  the  court  in  the  most  respectful 
terms,  requesting  that  a committee  might  be  appoint- 
ed to  examine  Mr.  Wilson,  and  suggested  that  if  the 


282 


DICK  WTLSOK. 


court  had  no  objection,  be  would  prefer,  for  bis  own 
part,  a public  examination.  He  stated  farther,  that 
there  was  a very  unusual  number  of  persons  present, 
and  he  presumed  they  had  come  with  the  expectation 

of  hearing  the  examination.  Judge  L , who  was 

of  course  on  the  bench,  had  not  the  reputation  of  be- 
ing very  accommodating,  either  in  or  out  of  court, 
and  on  this  occasion  anything  that  would  tend  to  in- 
crease the  popularity  of  Dick,  of  course  would  not 
be  granted.  In  reply  to  the  motion  and  suggestion  of 

Squire  B , he  remarked  that  the  time  of  court 

was  very  precious,  and  could  not  be  spent  in  flattering 
vanity. 

“I  will  appoint  a committee,.”  said  he,  “to  examine 
this  young  man,  and  they  can  retire  to  some  private 
place  during  the  adjournment  of  the  court  at  noon ; 
but  I cannot,  and  I will  not,  take  up  the  time  of  the 
court  with  this  matter.” 

A committee  was  accordingly  appointed ; but  Squire 

B was  not  one  of  the  number.  He  had  no  more 

reason  to  expect  favors  of  the  Judge  than  Dick  had, 
for  he  had  watched  and  divulged  his  low  trickery  as 
often  as  he  had  had  an  opportunity  of  doing  so. 
When  the  committee  were  appointed,  he  remarked  to 
a lawyer  by  his  side, — • 

“ This  matter  is  going  to  make  trouble,  you  may 
rely  upon  that.” 

When  the  hour  for  a recess  arrived,  Squire  B 


THE  PLOT.— THE  VICTIM. 


283 


invited  the  committee  to  his  office,  to  perform  the  duty 
assigned  them.  After  a close  and  protracted  examin- 
ation had  been  made,  every  member  of  the  commit- 
tee concurred  in  expressing  the  opinion,  that  it  was 
one  of  the  most  satisfactory  examinations  at  which 
they  had  ever  been  present. 

As  soon  as  the  bell  was  rung  for  the  afternoon  ses- 
sion of  the  court,  the  house  was  again  crowded,  and 
the  court  being  formally  opened,  the  chairman  of  the 
committee — who  was  from  an  adjoining  county — rose 
and  asked  the  court  to  hear  a report  of  the  examina- 
tion of  Mr.  Wilson.  This  report  was  introduced  with 
much  feeling,  and  so  far  as  a large  part  of  the  audi- 
ence were  concerned,  with  great  effect.  The  whole 
thing  was  of  the  most  flattering  character. 

Squire  B rose  slowly,  and  made  a motion  to 

the  effect  that  Richard  Wilson  be  admitted  as  an  at- 
torney, to  practice  in  the  several  courts  of  the  county. 
This  was  a moment  of  excitement  with  Dick.  The  ex- 
citement, however,  was  that  of  hope  unmingled  with 
fear.  The  dark  future  which  hung  over  him  was 
unknown.  Could  he  then  have  withdrawn  the  veil, 
and  see  what  was  soon  to  be  but  too  clearly  revealed, 
he  might,  with  Byron,  when  standing  upon  the  high- 
est crags  of  the  Alpine  mountains — poised  midway  be- 
tween the  heavens  and  the  earth — have  breathed  out 
from  his  hopeless  heart,  into  the  ear  of  the  furious 
storm-god,  as  he  was  passing  in  the  angry  chariot  of 


284 


DICK  WILSON. 


the  thunder  clouds — “ Tell  me,  ye  storms,  are  YE  like 
those  within  the  human  breast?” 

For  a moment  after  the  motion  was  made  by  Squire 

B , Judge  L seemed  to  be  very  much  per 

plexed ; but  it  was  evident  enough  that  he  had  been 
drawing  quite  liberally  on  the  assistance  of  rum , to 
aid  him  in  carrying  out  his  purpose. 

“ Gentlemen,”  said  he,  a I have  heard  your  applica- 
tion for  the  admission  of  Mr.  Wilson,  and  from  your 
reputation  as  jurists,  I have  no  doubt  that  your  report 
is  correct.  I regret  exceedingly  that  there  are  insu- 
perable difficulties  in  the  way  of  granting  this  appli- 
cation at  this  time.  It  may  not  be  known  to  you, 
gentlemen,  that  Mr.  Wilson  lacks  yet  several  months 
of  the  time  which  the  law  prescribes  as  being  neces- 
sary for  one  of  his  age,  to  be  spent  in  the  study  of  law 
prior  to  admission.  The  court  feel  the  importance, 
gentlemen,  of  adhering  strictly  to  the  law,  and  you 
will  see  the  necessity  of  doing  so,  when  you  consider 
the  dangers  to  which  the  standing  and  respectability 
of  the  bar  is  liable  ; and  these,  at  the  sacrifice  of  every 
personal  feeling,  the  court  is  determined  to  preserve 
in  their  purity.  The  court  find  it  necessary,  there- 
fore, to  hold  this  application  under  consideration  until 
the  next  regular  term,  at  which  time,  if  Mr.  Wilson 
pursues  his  studies  diligently,  he  may  possibly  be  ad- 
mitted.” 

A single  glance  at  Dick  would  have  told  you  that 


THE  PLOT. — THE  VICTIM. 


285 


liope  in  his  heart  was  crushed — it  would  have  pointed 
to  the  dying  fires  which  had  warmed  him  up  and  kept 
him  alive  in  the  days  of  his  toil,  in  preparing  for  that 
hour.  For  a moment  he  looked  wildly  around  that 
densely -peopled  court-room,  and  in  the  eyes  of  several 
he  saw  that  the  smile  of  vicious  triumph  was  already 
kindled.  He  cast  no  look  towards  his  friends,  for 
while  he  thanked  them  for  their  former  kindness,  he 
felt  that  he  needed  their  kindness  no  longer. 

For  a moment  he  rested  his  head  upon  the  counsel 
board,  and  when  he  raised  it  again  his  features  were 
calm — all  evidence  of  feeling  was  gone,  and  all  that 
could  be  seen  of  his  broken  heart,  with  its  crushed  and 
bleeding  affections,  was  a solitary  tear.  Like  himself, 
it  was  alone — and  soon  that  evidence  of  agony,  so 
emblematic  of  himself,  disappeared.  Here  the  crier 
was  ordered  to  adjourn  the  court.  In  the  midst  of 
the  silence  and  astonishment  of  the  moment,  Squire 

B rose,  and  fixing  his  eye  on  Judge  L — — , until 

it  seemed  as  if  it  would  pierce  his  very  soul,  he  com- 
menced,— 

“ May  it  please  the  court,  this  is  one  of  the  most 
flagrant  pieces  of  villainy  that  has  ever  been  concocted 
and  carried  out  in  a civilized  community.  How  cool ! 
No  doubt,  days  and  nights  of  concert  with  others , have 
been  spent  in  perfecting  this  plot.  It  affects  to  be  the 
promptings  of  kindness — the  respectability  of  the  bar ! 
What  does  your  honor  care  about  character  ? — about 


286 


DICK  WILSON. 


respectability  ? What  appreciation  have  you  of  kind- 
ness ?” 

Here  Judge  L.  informed  Squire  B that  he  would 

have  him  committed,  if  he  pursued  these  remarks. 
Said  Squire  B , 

“You  cannot  find  an  officer  who  is  mean  and  base 
enough  to  execute  your  command.  What  attachment 
have  you  to  honor? — None.  Here  is  Mr.  Wilson,  a 
young  gentleman  of  fine  abilities,  and  enviable  ac- 
quirements, thoroughly  prepared  to  practice  in  any 
court.  He  has  not  been  trained  at  that  bar,  sir,  whose 
foul  practices  you  understand  best,  and  in  the  minutia 
of  which  you  are  deeply  read  and  wonderfully  skilled 
— but  at  the  bar,  sir,  where  honorable  men  like  him- 
self contend  with  each  other  for  justice.  Here  upon 
the  threshold  you  intercept  his  progress.  The  wither- 
ing pestilence  of  the  rumseller,  let  loose  in  its  fury, 
wasted  and  scattered  the  opulence  of  his  city  home, 
and  sent  him  forth  penniless  and  alone,  to  search  for 
a place  in  which,  by  his  own  industry,  he  might  finish 
his  profession  and  find  a home,  to  which  he  might  re- 
move those  who  are  dependent  upon  him.  Tell  me, 
then,  if  up  to  this  moment  he  has  not  nobly  acquitted 
himself?  Chance  brought  him  here.  Will  you  tell 
me  who  has  been  injured  by  his  coming?  Those 
who  affect  to  have  been  injured  by  him,  had  reached 
the  acme  of  wickedness  before  he  came.  He  has  in- 
jured none,  and  those  with  whom  he  !\ae  elated 


THE  PLOT. — THE  VICTIM. 


287 


must  regard  themselves  as  being  richer  in  the  true 
ornaments  of  life,  than  before  they  enjoyed  his  society. 
Now,  sir,  when  he  h^s  passed  through  the  trying  or- 
deal of  poverty — where  he  has  proved  himself  not 
only  equal,  but  superior  to  the  disastrous  circumstances 
by  which  he  has  been  surrounded,  and  with  the  ten- 
derest  relations  of  earth  clinging  to  him  for  protection 
and  shelter — you  have  chosen  to  mete  out  to  him  a 
furious  vengeance.” 

The  stillness  of  this  moment  was  suddenly  broken, 
and  every  eye  was  turned  towards  the  door.  Dick’s 
cup  was  more  than  full — it  was  running  over ; and 

unobserved  by  Squire  B , he  had  risen  from  his 

seat,  and  was  advancing  towards  the  door. 

“ There,  may  it  please  the  court,”  continued  Squire 

B , “ there  goes  your  victim  ! he  is  bearing  out 

of  this  court-room,  which  you  have  rendered  infamous, 
his  broken  heart.” 

Dick  had  paused,  and  was  leaning  his  elbow  on  the 
prisoner’s  box,  apparently  indifferent  to  all  that  was 
passing,  when  he  seemed  to  be  suddenly  aroused  as 
from  a dream. 

“ Judge  L ,”  continued  Squire  B “has  he 

ever  done  you  a wrong  which  was  not  an  hundred  times 
provoked  by  yourself?  No  ! You  know  that  he  has 
not.  You  know  that  you  have  followed  him  with 
cruelty,  almost  since  you  first  saw  him.  You  have 
been  confederate  with  the  rumseller  to  destroy  him.  I 


288 


DICK  WILSON. 


know  that  you  have  disgraced  your  position  by  com- 
promising the  principles  of  justice  with  a miserable 
client,  in  a crime  of  twenty -five  years’  standing.  I 
know  very  well,  sir,  the  history  which  for  a quarter 
of  a century  has  loomed  in  ghost-like  terror  about  the 
old  ‘ stone  house.1  Judge  L , enter  it  upon  the  rec- 

ord, that  your  infamous  spirit  has  finally  triumphed 
oyer  the  young  and  unoffending !” 

Amidst  the  intense  confusion  which  prevailed,  Dick 
had  left  the  house,  and  every  one  who  was  not  com- 
pelled to  remain  soon  followed  his  example.  Every 
one  who  had  been  taught  to  prize  virtue,  left  with  a 
sad  heart ; and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  W atson,  as  they  turned 
towards  their  home,  were  deeply  impressed  with  the 
treacherous  character  of  the  Judge,  and  feared  the 
consequences,  which  they  apprehended  might  follow. 

“ Poor  fellow,”  said  Mr.  Watson  to  his  wife,  as  they 
passed  along,  u I am  afraid  that  even  his  generous  na- 
ture, backed  by  all  his  love  of  home  and  the  fair  pros- 
pects before  him,  will  be  insufficient  to  withstand  the 
crushing  blow.  Though  he  has  withstood  manfully 
all  the  other  temptations  which  have  been  almost  con- 
stantly before  him,  I am  really  fearful  that  this  bitter 
disappointment  will  unman  him.  Before  the  death  of 
his  father,  you  know,  he  drank  freely;  and  he  has 
often  told  me  that  he  has  had  to  struggle  hard  here, 
to  resist  the  importunities  of  his  own  appetite  for 
strong  drink.  I had  supposed  the  danger  past,  and 


THE  PLOT. — THE  VICTIM. 


289 


that,  young  as  lie  was,  once  established  in  business, 
with  his  family  around  him,  the  influence  of  a perni- 
cious early  habit  would  be  entirely  overcome.  But 
this,  coming  to  him  so  suddenly,  so  severely,  I fear 
will  be  too  much  for  him.  I tremble  for  the  conse- 
quences.” 

And  well  he  might,  for  nothing  is  more  clearly  es- 
tablished than  that  the  love  of  strong  drink,  when 
once  formed,  lives  while  the  heart  beats.  To  resist  it 
requires  a life-long  struggle.  Years  of  abstinence  may 
have  been  practiced,  yet  a single  draught  of  the  mad- 
dening poison  fires  the  appetite  to  resistless  intensity, 
and  the  victim  falls  powerless  in  the  hands  of  the  de- 
stroyer. This  view  of  the  case  shows  clearly  the  dan- 
ger constantly  attending  the  use  of  alcoholic  drinks. 
To  use  them  is  to  form  a relish  for  them.  To  love  strong 
drink,  though  we  may  now  avoid  intoxication,  is  among 
the  most  perilous  positions  in  which  we  can  be 
placed.  We  may  escape  with  only  a shortening  of  life, 
and  the  rendering  of  it  comparatively  miserable.  We 
may  not  become  drunkards,  yet  the  chances  are  against 
us.  If  our  lives  are  prosperous  and  fair — if  nothing 
occurs  to  tax  peculiarly  our  fortitude,  or  our  energy, 
we  may  float  on,  being  considered  as  only  moderate 
drinkers.  But  if  storms  assail  us,  then  it  is  that  our 
rotten  sails  and  rickety  hulks  are  tried ; and  if  we  have 
been  moderate  drinkers  before,  we  become  drunkards 
now,  and  at  the  very  time  when  the  duties  and  respon- 
M 19 


290 


DICK  WILSON. 


sibilities  of  life  press  upon  us ; and  when  we  should 
assert  our  manliness,  by  meeting  and  discharging 
them,  we  falter  and  fall. 

Dick’s  footsteps  were  soon  heard  at  the  door,  and 
Mr.  Watson  rose  to  meet  him.  He  saw  at  once  the 
strange  calmness  which  the  chilling  events  of  the  day 
had  printed  upon  his  brow ; and  there  was  a wildness 
in  his  expression  which  told  but  too  plainly  the  con- 
flicts of  emotion  with  which  he  was  oppressed. 

“Mr.  Watson,”  said  he,  “I  have  come  to  ask  a fa- 
vor of  you.  You  have  been  to  me  more  than  a father 
since  I came  to  your  * door,  a stranger,  seeking  the 
means  to  obtain  my  daily  bread.  I can  never  repay 
you,  or  your  dear  lady,  for  your  kindness,  your  many 
favors  to  me.  I wish  you,  if  you  will,  to  mail  this 
letter  in  the  morning  to  my  dear  mother.  It  will  ac- 
quaint her  of  my  misfortune,  and  of  my  determina- 
tion to  leave  this  place.” 

“But  you  will  not  leave  us?”  said  Mr.  Watson. 

“Yes,  Mr.  Watson,  I must.  My  business  here  is 
over.  There  is  nothing  to  keep  me  longer.  My  hopes 
are  all  wasted  by  cruel  malice  and  hate.  Oh ! my  dear 
friends,  do  not  think  me  indifferent  to  you.  What- 
ever betides  me,  you  will  ever  be  gratefully  remem- 
bered.” 

“ Where  do  you  intend  to  go,  Richard  ?” 

“ God  only  knows,  Mrs.  Watson.  I am  determined 


THE  PLOT. — THE  VICTIM. 


291 


to  leave  this  place,  and  where  I shall  finally  stop,  this 
whirling  brain  has  not  yet  decided.” 

“But,  Richard,”  said  Mrs.  Watson,  “think  of  your 
mother — your  sister — your  helpless  brother!” 

“Ah  !”  said  Dick,  “those  are  precious  names  to  me. 
They  have  hitherto  held  me  up  against  discourage- 
ments. The  letter  will  explain  the  matter.  It  will 
tell  them  that  I have  kept  the  field  resolutely  as  long 
as  hope  remained,  and  when  that  died,  I fled  from  the 
field  of  my  disappointment,  and  whither,  time  only 
can  tell.” 

Then  turning  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Watson,  and  extend- 
ing his  hands  he  said,- — 

“ Good-bye,  my  dear  friends.  You  may,  or  you 
may  not,  see  me  again.  I shall  struggle  to  show  my- 
self worthy  the  confidence  you  have  reposed  in  me, 
but  on  some  other  field  than  this,”  and  turning,  he 
walked  rapidly  away  .. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


DUTY  AND  PLEASURE. 

“ Onward,  onward  may  we  press, 

Through  the  paths  of  duty : 

Virtue  is  true  happiness, 

Excellence  is  beauty. 

Minds  are  of  celestial  birth, 

Make  we  then  a heaven  of  earth.” 

It  was  well  known  in  the  village  of  B that 

Dick  "Wilson  had  left,  and  many  a heart  had  sorrowed 
over  his  misfortunes  as  they  contemplated  the  proba- 
ble consequences,  for  which  they  knew  the  rumseller 
was  responsible. 

Months  had  passed,  and  no  reliable  tidings  of  Dick 
Wilson  had  come  back  to  the  village  from  which  he 
had  so  suddenly  departed.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Watson 
thought  and  spoke  much  of  him,  and  their  children 
often  asked  the  question,  “Mother,  where  is  Richard?” 
and  invariably  in  answer  to  these  interrogations,  which 
were  prompted  by  their  childish  love,  she  would  take 
the  occasion  to  warn  them  against  those  unfeeling 
men,  who  were  capable  of  blotting  out  the  light,  the 
loves,  and  the  hopes  of  life ; and  for  these  things  they 
could  not  fail  to  honor  that  mother’s  memory.  Mr. 


DUTY  AND  PLEASUKE. 


293 


S , the  minister,  was  still  there,  and  likely  to  re- 

main, notwithstanding  the  bitterest  opposition. 

* * 

A traveller  is  on  the  cars,  and  his  attention  is  di- 
rected'to  a group  who  are  sitting  near  by  him.  The 
first  object  is  a woman  habited  in  the  weeds  of  mourn- 
ing, and  her  appearance  indicated  that  she  had  not 
reached  the  middle  of  life.  She  sat  quiet  and  thought- 
ful in  the  midst  of  a mourning  band,  who  seemed  to 
regard  her  as  their  only  protection.  The  lines  of  care 
were  deeply  traced  upon  her  brow,  and  upon  her 
cheeks,  too,  are  the  deep  furrows,  which  look  as  if  the 
tearful  flood  of  years  had  held  there  its  uninterrupted 
way.  "With  her,  sadness  seemed  to  be  doing  a rapid 
work,  and  reason  to  be  tottering  on  its  throne.  She 
turned  her  eye  from  the  strangers  by  whom  she  was 
surrounded,  with  a sweet  familiarity  towards  heaven. 
It  was  plain  that  she  knew  the  way  thither,  and  that 
often  in  thought  she  had  been  there  before.  Her  lips 
moved  reverently,  and  an  unearthly  serenity  gilded 
for  a moment  her  countenance,  and  then,  with  a full, 
rich  smile,  which  looked  all  the  brighter  as  it  con- 
trasted with  the  gloom  of  her  mourning  apparel,  she 
cast  a glance  of  love  upon  her  charge,  and  tried  to  be 
calm. 

“Who  can  this  be?”  inquired  the  traveller;  and 
then,  as  if  lost  for  an  answer,  he  said,  “ Well,  who- 
ever she  may  be,  she  is  deeply  marked  by  sorrow. 


294 


DICK  WILSON. 


There  surely  was  a time  when  her  heart  was  not  sad, 
when  no  cloud  of  grief  shaded  her  brow,  and  when 
those  tears  flowed  not.  These  could  not  have  been 
tears  of  joy ; for  they  leave  no  traces  : they  wear  no 
furrows.  It  is  theirs  to  tinge  the  cheek  of  beauty 
with  a deeper  hue  of  gladness,  and  add  lustre  to  the 
eye  which  they  have  moistened.  She  is  a widow,  no 
doubt,  and  he  upon  whom  she  bestowed  the  virgin  af- 
fections of  her  heart — upon  whom  she  was  leaning 
for  support  and  trusting  for  defence  in  the  wilderness 
of  life — is  gone.  But  where?  To  the  grave,  per- 
haps, and  she  is  alone,  save  with  her  little  band,  for 
whom  only  her  heart  seems  anxious  to  beat  on.  He, 
the  husband,  in  the  spring-time  of  existence,  may 
have  forgotten  his  solemn  vows.  He  saw  his  first- 
born infant,  and  in  an  ecstasy  of  pleasure,  he  may 
have  sworn  over  it  that  he  would  be  faithful  to  those 
solemn  engagements,  and  yet  it  may  be  that  he  turned 
from  the  path  of  safety  and  domestic  happiness,  not 
willingly,  but  under  the  influence  of  strong  tempta- 
tion.” 

The  traveller  resolved  to  satisfy  himself,  and  learn 
from  her  own  lips  the  history  of  her  griefs,  and  to  his 
sympathizing  inquiries,  she  replied, — « 

“I  am  a drunkard’s  widow,  and  these  poor  children 
are  a drunkard’s  orphans.” 

At  this  moment  the  traveller  heard  the  mention  of 
a name,  in  which  he  was  deeply  interested.  He  turn- 


DUTY  AND  PLEASURE. 


295 


ed  himself  hastily  toward  that  part  of  the  car  in  which 
some  one,  he  was  sure,  had  spoken  that  name.  There 
was  a company  of  young  persons  of  both  sexes,  and 
the  very  opposite  of  the  quiet  one  from  whom  he  had 
just  turned.  Their  spirits  seemed  to  be  elastic  and 
cheerful  as  the  air  they  were  breathing,  and -as  their 
merry  laugh  rang  out  from  the  yet  unchecked  fountain 
of  joy  in  their  hearts,  no  cloud  of  permanent  sadness 
rested  on  a single  countenance  in  that  gay  throng. 
Sorrow  had  left  no  traces  there : no  withered  beams 
of  hope  were  strewing  their  paths.  These  happy  ones 
were  returning  to  their  homes  amidst  the  associations 
of  city  life,  after  enjoying  themselves  for  a short 
time  amidst  the  rusticity  of  rural  scenes,  and,  as  was 
natural  enough,  they  were  amusing  themselves  in  the 
recapitulating  of  new  sights  and  sayings.  But  among 
them  was  one  who,  if  she  had  not  gazed  so  minutely 
or  so  reverently  upon  the  majestic  scenery  by  which 
their  rural  rambles  were  skirted,  had,  notwithstanding, 
looked  upon  that  which  had  been  and  was  still  more 
majestic  and  sublime  in  its  being.  She  had  seen  a de- 
solated heart,  and  she  had  sympathized  with  forlorn 
and  neglected  merit. 

“Well,  Kate,”  said  one  of  the  company,  addressing 
a girl  of  queen-like  beauty  and  dignity,  “your  taste 
must  run  in  an  odd  channel.  Oh ! you  don’t  know 
what  you  have  missed  by  your  strange  preference  for 
that  poor  family — the  widow  and  her  sun-burned 


296 


DICK  WILSON. 


daughter.  I dare  say  you  lavished  your  pocket-money 
very  freely  upon  them.  Ah,  ha ! my  girl,  what  will 
your  mother  say  to  this  ?” 

“Lucy,”  said  Kate,  “I  am  never  afraid  to  account 
to  my  mother,  and  this  time  I shall  do  it  with  more 
pleasure  than  I ever  did.” 

“ Oh  yes,  I suppose  your  mother  will  praise  you. 
I remember  now — her  maxim  is  that  religion  and  char- 
ity go  together.  I declare,  Kate,  if  a person  can’t  be 
religious  without  bearing  its  burdens,  it’s  bad  enough.” 

“ Religion  don't  ask  you  to  bear  its  burdens,  Lucy ; 
it  comes  to  bear  yours.  My  mother  will  praise  me, 
that’s  true ; and  I love  her  all  the  better  because  she  has 
taught  me  to  be  kind  to  the  suffering.  I have  given 
away  no  money,  but  if  it  had  been  needed,  I should 
have  done  so  with  a singular  satisfaction.  I have 
sympathized  with  that  family,  and  although  you  may 
laugh,  I am  proud  to  own  it ; and  for  so  doing  I have 
been  repaid  in  many  ways  which,  I hope,  will  benefit 
me  through  life.  I regret  very  much  that  each  of  you 
did  not  accompany  me  with  your  sympathies  to  the 
house  of  that  heart-broken  woman.  You  have  lost 
much — more  than  you  are  aware  of.” 

“ Why,  dear  me,  Kate ! we  couldn’t  go  there  at  all. 
I am  surprised  that  you  should  think  of  such  a thing. 
Our  education  is  all  against  that.  We  would  have 
given  you  our  charity  to  have  carried  with  you  to 
that  family.” 


DUTY  AND  PLEASUBE. 


297 


“ Ah  ! they  are  cheerless  enough  now,  without  be- 
ing frozen  by  those  charities  which  are  unaccompanied 
by  the  heart.” 

“ Oh ! we  didn’t  mean  .o  freeze  them,  but  to  tell 
you  what  we  would  have  been  willing  to  do,  if  yc*u 
had  made  the  request.  We  are  not  misers ; but  as  for 
going  to  such  low  places  as  that,  we  can’t  do  it ; and 
what’s  more,  our  parents  would  not  permit  us  to  do 
so.  We  thought  it  strange  enough  that  you  went, 
but  then  we  referred  it  all  to  the  singular  sentimental- 
ism which  has  been  coming  over  you  ever  since  you 
took  that  little  ragged  class  of  vagrants,  whom  your 
father  tamed,  and  brought  into  the  Sunday-school.  I 
suppose  it’s  all  right,  but  we  can’t  do  it.  We  ain’t 
low  enough  to  teach  little  vagrants !” 

4 ‘Lucy,  I beseech  you  do  not  use  that  word  vagrant, 
for  there  is  something  about  it  so-  unnatural  and  chill- 
ing, and  so  very  cruel,  when  applied  to  children,  who, 
in  many  instances,  if  they  are  almost  anything  that  is 
bad,  are  so  from  the  force  of  circumstances.  Those 
children,  who  you  are  pleased  to  call  vagrants,  are  in- 
deed very  poor.  Some  of  them  have  poor  mothers, 
but  unfortunately  all  of  them  have  fathers  who  are  in- 
temperate. I have  been  at  their  homes,  and  I know 
what  their  miseries  are.  I am  willing  to  admit  that 
there  are  cases  when  that  term  of  reproach  may  have 
an  application,  but  it  never  will  apply  to  the  child.  It 

ought  to  be  stricken  from  the  catalogue  of  reproach, 
M* 


298 


DICK  WILSOIST. 


and  some  other  word,  one  that  has  a winning  spirit, 
instituted  in  its  place.  Better  call  them  victims .” 

“ Whose  victims  ?” 

“ The  rumseller’s.  Suppose  those  children  had  over- 
heard you,  pointing  them  out  by  that  cold  word — 
would  its  tendency  have  been  to  make  them  better  or 
worse  ? I love  those  children — not  because  they  are 
the  children  of  intemperate  fathers — but  because  they 
are  human  beings,  whose  destiny  must  be  shaped  for 
good  or  for  evil.  The  diamond,  although  it  may  be 
unsightly  when  taken  from  its  bed,  yet  when  it  has 
passed  through  a refining  process,  it  may  vie  with  the 
sun.  So  with  these  children.  If  they  are  poor,  and 
comparatively  uncared  for  now,  by  sympathetic  care 
they  may  be  prepared  for  usefulness  here,  and  happi- 
ness hereafter.  Do  not,  therefore,  use  the  word  vag- 
rant, when  you  speak  of  children,  and  be  careful  how 
you  apply  it  when  you  speak  of  the  young  or  of  the 
old,  however  far  they  may  be  advanced  in  crime. 
Oh,  remember  that  poverty  is  not  without  its  feeling 
instinct — nor  is  misery  without  its  sensitive  spirit.” 

“ Well,  Kate,  I will  give  you  my  word  it  won’t  be 
used  again.  You  seem  to  have  a special  respect  for 
poverty  and  low  life,  and  it  amounts  almost  to  making 
heroes  out  of  your  little  1 victims.’  I never  yet  have 
crossed  the  threshold  of  poverty,  and  that  may  be  the 
reason  why  I do  not  look  at  the  matter  as  you  do.” 

“ Poverty,”  replied  Kate,  “is  by  no  means  rare,  and 


DUTY  AND  PLEASURE. 


299 


you  may  yet  be  forced  to  cross  its  threshold  in  enter- 
ing your  own  home.  We  cannot  tell  what  is  before 
us.  Poverty,  when  virtue  clusters  about  it  as  a de- 
fence, is  able  to  stand  in  the  evil  day  ; but  when  it  has 
combined  with  vice  and  shame,  it  has  no  defence ; but 
yet,  even  this  kind  is  not  hopeless — it  may  be  restored. 
Kindness  may  revolutionize  the  soul,  and  win  it  back 
to  the  ways  of  peace.” 

“ Ha,  ha ! indeed,  you  are  getting  sentimental.  Your 
visits  amongst  the  hills  have  wonderfully  affected 
you.  But,  Kate,  you  may  do  as  you  please,  you 
cannot  make  me  mingle  with  this  kind  of  low  life. 
It’s  a pity  these  low  people  can’t  make  out  to  get 
along  with  their  own  society.  It’s  good  enough  for 
them,  and  they  ought  to  be  contented.  It’s  out  of 
the  question  for  them  ever  to  be  respectable.  I pre- 
sume they  were  always  just  so.” 

a I am  surprised  to  hear  you  talk  in  this  way.  Why, 
the  rumseller  can  make  almost  anything  bad.  He  can 
change  an  industrious  into  an  idle  man— an  honorable 
into  a dishonorable  one — an  affectionate  father  and 
husband  into  a fiend.  Yes,  he  can  turn  a domestic 
paradise  into  something  as  rayless  and  as  cheerless  as 
Egyptian  night.” 

“ Well,  now,  Kate,  this  is  strange.  Just  look  at  it. 
You  know,  as  well  as  I do,  that  these  drunkards  are 
low  people,  and  that  they  can  never  rise— it  is  their 
nature  to  be  just  what  they  are.  If  rumsellers  were 


300 


DICK  WILSON. 


doing  the  harm  that  yon  talk  about,  do  yon  think 
that  intelligent  people  would  sustain  them  ? — I guess 
not.” 

1 1 1 admit,  Lucy,  that  it  is  strange  ; but  far  the  worst 
is,  that  it  is  true.  If  intelligent  Christian  people  had 
that  jealous  fear  for  the  peace  and  safety  of  their  own 
homes,  which  one  would  think  they  would  have — if 
the  peace  and  happiness  of  their  sons  and  their  daugh- 
ters, which  is  precious  above  every  price,  and  which 
is  daily  menaced  by  this  monster  cruelty — they  would 
shake  it,  with  the  mighty  energy  of  a giant’s  grasp,  to 
the  earth..  Oh,  but  it  does  seem  as  if  a mercy -loving 
God  would  soon  awake  to  full  vigor,  the  slumbering 
instinct  of  humanity.  It  does  seem  as  if  it  must  awake 
before  long,  to  avenge  the  widow  and  the  orphan.  I 
am  well  persuaded  that  it  is  only  because  people  do 
not  more  familiarize  themselves  with  the  homes — the 
wants  and  the  miseries  of  the  drunkard’s  family — that 
they  are  so  slow  to  move  on  this  subject.” 

“ Kate,  this  would  be  a nice  work  for  genteel  people 
— to  be  caught  in  the  alleys,  and  garrets,  and  cellars 
of  those  miserable  places.  I am  utterly  astonished 
that  you  should  think  of  such  a thing.  You  are  an 
exception  to  everything.  You  are  good — better  than 
you  ought  to  be.” 

“ Thank  you,  Lucy;  but  I think  God  made  genteel 
people  to  be  more  than  the  slaves  of  fashion — for  more 
than  to  bend  their  necks  to  receive  and  wear  its  yoke. 


DUTY  AND  PLEASURE. 


301 


If  this  is  all  they  feel  to  be  their  duty  in  life,  then  they 
will  come  down  to  the  grave  with  not  a single  duty 
of  life  discharged.  Yon  may  laugh  now;  but  you 
would  weep  if  your  brother  were  a drunkard.” 

“Oh,  Kate,  there  is  no  danger  of  that:  that’s  im- 
possible.” 

“I  admit,  that  it  is  improbable,  but  I cannot  admit 
that  is  impossible.  I have  heard  of  many,  and  especi- 
ally of  one,  who,  so  far  as  natural  nobleness  could 
make  him  such,  was  as  good  as  any  brother,  and,  until 
cursed  by  the  rum  seller,  was  as  noble  a son  as  any 
one  over  whose  destiny  a mother’s  heart  ever  yearned.” 
“ Pray,  Kate,  who  was  this  paragon  of  excellence  ?” 
“ He  was  a widow’s  son.” 

“ Ah  ! I see : poverty  made  him  noble.” 

“You  are  mistaken.  Wealth  made  him  unsus- 
picious.” 

“ Where  does  he  live?” 

“ God  only  knows,  if  now  he  lives  at  all.” 

“ Well,  what  is  his  name?  You  can  tell  that.” 

“ Not  now.” 

“Why  not?” 

“With  the  name  there  are  other  things  you  must 
know.” 

“ Why  must  I know  them  ?” 

“ Because  you  are  connected  with  them,  and  you 
are  a part  of  the  scene.” 

“ Where  did  you  learn  all  this  ?” 


302 


DICK  WILSON. 


“ From  the  lips  of  that  poor  widow.” 

“ Oh,  fie ! Kate,  you  are  a good  girl;  but  if  that 
poor  widow  and  a strayed  or  stolen  son  are  the  heroes, 
I guess  it  ain’t  very  interesting.” 

“ Oh,  yes,”  replied  Kate,  pleasantly,  yet  earnestly, 
“you  would  like  to  hear  it.” 

“ Well,  what  is  that  widow’s  name  ?” 

“ I did  not  intend  to  tell  you,  but  I will.  Her  name 
is  Wilson.” 

“ Wilson?  Wilson  ? Has  she  lived  there  long?” 

“ I believe  not.” 

“ That  name  seems  to  be  familiar.” 

“Yes,  I presume  it  is.  Ho  you  remember  spending 

several  months  in  the  village  of  B ? You  know 

the  portrait  which  is  hanging  in  our  parlor?  You 
have  often  admired  it,  and  several  times  you  said  that 
it  reminded  you  very  much  of  one  you  had  seen. 
You  were  right : it  was  Bichard  Wilson’s.” 

She  who  had  been  the  reputed  “ belle”  in  the  village 

of  B > started  in  astonishment,  and  the  deep 

anxiety  in  her  countenance  made  it  a matter  of  gen- 
eral interest,  and  Kate  was  besieged  with  requests 
that  she  would  relate  the  widow’s  history,  which  she 
agreed  to  do,  if  at  an  appointed  time  they  would  meet 
her  at  home. 

They  reached  the  depot,  and  the  passengers  were 
hurrying  to  their  respective  homes.  The  grief  of  one 
can  reach  the  heart  of  another,  and  tinge  with  sadness 


DUTY  AND  PLEASUKE. 


303 


even  the  glowing  cheek  of  beauty  ; but  when  it  does, 
it  makes  that  cheek  look  all  the  lovelier.  This  the 
traveller  saw  in  the  beautiful  demonstration  before 
him ; for  in  every  feature  of  that  beautiful  girl,  gentle- 
ness, love  and  dignity  were  surpassingly  developed. 
There  she  had  stood  in  the  midst  of  that  smiling, 
fickle  band,  the  only  one  of  their  number  who  could 
defend,  with  heroic  magnanimity,  the  poor  and  unfor- 
tunate— laying  the  blame  where  of  right  it  belonged, 
at  the  door  of  the  rumseller. 

Oh ! that  the  youth  of  America — those  whose  ban- 
ners, ornamented  by  the  hands  of  their  gentle  sisters, 
and  followed  by  their  prayers,  have  often  danced 
proudly  on  the  battle-field,  and  waved  defiance  in  the 
face  of  the  maddening  charge — were  all  like  this  young 
heroine  of  virtue ! 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


KATE  HAMILTON  AND  MKS.  WILSON. 

u O ye,  to  pleasure  who  resign  the  day, 

As  loose  in  Luxury’s  clasping  arms  you  lie, 

O yet  let  Pity  in  your  breast  bear  sway, 

And  learn  to  melt  at  Misery’s  moving  cry.” 

“Well,  girls,”  said  Kate  Hamilton,  wlien  her  audi- 
tors had  assembled  at  her  father’s  house,  “ you  seem 
to  think  that  wealth  and  respectability  are  proof 
against  those  changes  of  condition  which  often  result 
from  the  rum  traffic.” 

“ Ah!”  said  Mr.  Hamilton,  “that’s  a great  mistake, 
as  in  my  limited  experience  I have  already  known 
more  than  a dozen  wealthy  and  worthy  families  who 
have  been  reduced  to  beggary  and  rendered  miserable 
by  intemperance.” 

Here  it  was  evident  enough  that  Kate’s  auditors  were 
fearful,  lest  Mr.  Hamilton  should  rise  above  the  com- 
monplace morals  to  which  they  were  accustomed,  and 
give  the  matter  a seriousness  which  they  thought 
would  lessen  its  interest.  Kate  had  already  informed 
her  parents  of  all  she  had  seen  or  heard  from  the 
widow ; and  in  their  own  domestic  circle,  in  a feeling 
and  Christian  manner,  they  had  canvassed  the  subject. 

“Now,”  said  Kate,  “if  you  still  entertain  the  opin- 


KATE  HAMILTON  AND  MRS.  WILSON.  305 

ion  yon  did,  I think  I can  convince  yon  that  yon  are 
wrong,  and  that  reverses  have  a fonndation  in  fact 
deeper  than  they  nsnally  have  in  the  wildest  fiction.” 
“Kate,”  said  the  yonng  lady  who  had  been  fore- 
most in  the  conversation  on  the  cars,  “ do  yon  know 
who  that  portrait  represents?” 

“ I have  heard  of  him.” 

“ Have  yon  ever  seen  him  ?” 

“ I have  not.” 

“ How  did  that  portrait  come  into  yonr  possession?” 
“ Frank  brought  it  home  with  him  from  college.” 
“Did  he  never  tell  yon  whom  it  represented?” 
“Yes.  Dick  Wilson  is  the  original.” 

“ Kate,  yon  are  jesting.  Are  yon  snre,  that  the  por- 
trait represents  Dick  Wilson?” 

“Yes,  I am  snre  of  it.  He  was  a most  intimate 
friend  of  my  brother’s,  and  in  looking  over  Frank’s 
old  letters  a day  or  two  since,  I found  several  from 
him.  Did  you  ever  know  a person  of  that  name?” 

“ Fate,”  said  Lucy,  “ has  brought  me  here  this  even- 
ing, to  rehearse  to  me  a lesson  I was  trying  to  forget. 
Go  on,  Kate.” 

“ These  things,”  said  Mrs.  Hamilton,  “ are  hard  to 
banish.  The  thorns  which  we  pluck  with  our  own 
hands,  and  place  in  our  own  beds,  will  surely  pierce 
ns,  and  often  with  manjr  sorrows.” 

“Fate  is  a hard  master,”  said  Lucy,  as  she  looked 
intently  into  the  unruffled  countenance,  which  brought 

20 


306 


DICK  WILSOX. 


back  the  thronging  recollections  of  the  past,  and  from 
which  she  seemed  to  hear,  in  a gentle  whisper  which 
spoke  to  her  heart,  “ I have  a mother,”  and  then,  as  on 

that  fearful  day  in  the  court-house  of  B , it  seemed 

to  be  rushing  from  her  presence  in  the  wild  frenzy  of 
despair.  For  a few  moments  she  seemed  .to  be  deeply 
absorbed  in  reflection,  in  which,  no  doubt,  the  past 
history  of  the  individual  pictured  before  her  was 
rising  in  its  sad  realities,  and  she  faintly  ejaculated, 
“ "Where  is  he  ? "Where  is  he  ?” 

“ On  the  sunny  plains  of  Mexico,”  said  Kate,  “he 
sleeps  a quiet  sleep  in  a soldier’s  grave,  where  the  din 
of  battle  and  the  wail  of  the  dying  chanted  his  re- 
quiem. Ah!  but  say  not  ‘fate,’  for  it  is  a cheerless 
word,  and  here  it  is  wholly  inapplicable.  Fate,  min- 
gling in  our  misfortunes,  would  encircle  them  with 
additional  terrors,  and  so  continue,  until  even  despair 
would  be  welcome  to  the  heart.  Say,  Providence: 
there  is  something  sweet  and  inspiring  in  the  vastness, 
the  intelligence  and  goodness  expressed  by  that  word.” 

“ You  say  he  sleeps  ?” 

“ Aye,  the  long  sleep,  dear  girl,  which  is  broken 
only  by  the  resurrection.  But  I will  tell  you  all  in 
its  connection.” 

“ Go  on,  Kate.  Oh  ! if  once  again  I could  see  that 
face  as  on  the  fatal  - night  when  first  I saw  it.  Then 
beauty  and  dignity  covered  it,  and  then  I,  a foolish 
girl,  was  willing  to  contract  for  its  ruin,  and  for  the 


KATE  HAMILTON  AND  MRS.  WILSON.  307 

breaking  of  those  hearts  to  whom  misfortune  had  en- 
deared it.  There  is  a madness  in  the  wine  cup  which, 
until  now,  I never  saw.” 

We  feel,  but  cannot  explain,  the  laws  of  association 
by  which  we  are  surrounded — the  nicety  with  which 
they  are  woven  into  the  very  constitution  of  our  being ; 
and  yet  we  know  that  by  this  connection  the  simplest 
agency  may  awake  in  our  recollections — in  our  very 
souls — those  events  which  in  joy  or  sorrow  rise  up  be- 
fore us  again ; and  they  have  a whispering  voice 
which  has  power  to  chain  and  hold  in  captivity  even 
the  stern  energies  of  a mind  which  ordinarily  is  not 
easily  moved. 

Oh  yes,  grief-smitten  mother ! in  your  premature 
widowhood  you  have  felt,  seen,  known,  that  there  is  a 
fearful  meaning  in  the  feeblest  memento.  Even  the 
wail  of  your  infant  child  can  call  up  those  overwhelm-- 
ing  recollections  which  remind  you  of  the  bright  days 
of  your  home — days  which  were  darkened  by  the 
coming  of  the  rumseller,  to  riot  without  mercy  on  the 
affections  of  that  home. 

“ Now,  girls,”  said  Kate  Hamilton,  u why  or  how  it 
was  that  I strayed  from  your  society  during  our  recent 
visit  I cannot  tell ; and  neither  can  I tell  why  it  was 
that  my  attention  was  directed  to  that  family.  But 
one  thing  is  certain — we  don’t  always  direct  our  own 
steps.  The  old  grave  yard  lying  just  opposite  the 
house,  with  its  antique  appearance,  attracted  my  curi- 


308 


DICK  WILSON. 


osity,  and  I entered  it.  After  passing  through  it,  I 
seated  myself  on  a beautiful  grassy  knoll,  whose  sweet 
appearance  during  a century  had  kept  at  bay  the 
grave-digger’s  spade.  The  door  of  that  humble  dwell- 
ing was  wide  open,  and  I was  sure  that  it  was  the 
abode  of  poverty.  Occasionally  I caught  a glimpse 
of  the  inmates  ; but  after  all,  the  grave  yard  was  my 
study,  and  I was  unwilling  to  be  interrupted.  I was 
rising  to  depart,  better,  I hope,  than  when  I entered, 
when  my  attention  was  arrested  by  what  to  me,  at  that 
moment,  seemed  to  be  the  finest  music  to  which  I had 
ever  listened.  The  singers  were  trilling,  with  a mourn- 
ful cadence,  in  which  feeling  and  musical  precision 
were  blended  into  the  sweetest  harmony,  a precious 
old  song,  to  which  I am  passionately  attached,  and  I 
listened  as  if  listening  to  the  music  of  seraphims,  while 
they  sung,  with  a rich,  clear  melody,  the  words, 

“ Oh,  come,  come  with  me  to  the  old  kirk  yard, 

For  I well  know  the  spot,  through  the  old  green  sward ; 

Friends  slumber  there  we  were  wont  to  regard, 

And  we’ll  trace  out  their  names  in  the  old  kirk  yard.” 

An  indescribable  sensation  came  over  me,  and  as  they 
concluded,  I said  involuntarily  to  myself — 4 Here 
I am,  amidst  the  rural  scenery  of  nature,  where  I ex- 
pected to  hear  no  music  but  that  which  is  breathed 
from  nature’s  own  lungs,  and  yet  here  I have  heard 
almost  the  perfection  of  that  rare  accomplishment.’ 
I knew  very  well  that  nature  educated  in  some  degree 


KATE  HAMILTON  AND  MRS.  WILSON.  309 

her  own  children — that  her  high  mountains  and  dash- 
ing cataracts  could  give  to  her  rural  offspring  the  fer- 
vid inspiration  as  well  as  the  rich,  mellow  voices  to 
which  I was  then  listening — but  I knew  that  nature 
could  never  give  that  elegant  precision.  I arose  from 
the  beautiful  spot  where  I had  seated  myself,  in  the 
resting-place  of  the  dead,  and  crossed  over  the  street 
to  the  door.  Oh,  if  you  had  seen  that  group ! The 
door  was  still  open,  and  I could  see  them  plainly; 
and  what  a contrast  there  was  between  those  pale 
cheeks  and  those  rich  voices ! There  sat  three  per- 
sons— a mother,  a daughter,  and  a little  boy — grouped 
together  in  the  informal  order  of  true  affection ; and 
it  seemed  as  if  they  were  trying  to  console  each  other 
to  the  last.  They  were  sad  indeed,  but  intelligence 
and  dignity  were  in  their  sadness.  They  were  pale, 
but  there  was  beauty  in  their  paleness.  They  were- 
poor,  but  there  was  an  evident  nobility  in  their  pov- 
erty. And  last  of  all — any  one  might  have  read  in 
the  calm  expression  of  their  countenances,  that  in  en- 
during riches  they  were  princely.  As  I stood  before 
the  door  they  invited  me  to  enter,  without  any  ap- 
pearance of  confusion  ; and  as  I did  so,  the  young  girl 
immediately  handed  me  a chair.  After  seating  my- 
self, I asked  to  be  excused  for  the  informal  manner  in 
which  I had  made  my  appearance,  and  then  told  them 
how  passionately  I was  attached  to  the  song  which 
they  had  been  singing. 


810 


DICK  WILSON. 


44  4 We  are  glad  to  see  you,7  said  she,  who  proved  to 
be  the  mother  of  the  two  by  her  side.  4 That  old  song 
is  very  precious  to  us ; and  yet  we  seldom  sing  it — only 
when  we  would  hold  fellowship  with  those  whom  it 
vividly  pictures  to  our  mind,  as  when  in  the  bloom 
of  youth  and  in  the  strength  of  manhood.7 

44  I asked  them  to  sing  4 The  Old  Kirk  Yard7  again, 
and  they  cheerfully  complied  with  my  request.  When 
they  had  finished  it,  and  wiped  the  tears  from  theii 
cheeks,  the  little  boy,  with  a pleasant,  playful  smile, 
approached  me.  There  was  something  remarkable  in 
that  boy’s  countenance.  It  seemed  as  if  I had  been 
acquainted  with  it  for  years,  and  yet  I was  sure  that 
I had  never  seen  it  before.  Placing  his  hand  in  mine, 
he  said, 

44  4 Will  you  please,  Miss,  to  tell  your  name  ? You 
don’t  live  about  here,  do  you?7 

“I  told  him  that  my  name  was  Kate  Hamilton, 
and  said,  4 Now  you  will  tell  me  your  name,  wont 
you?’ 

44  4 Yes,  Miss,7  said  he ; 4 my  name  is  Harry  Wilson.7 

44 1 then  asked  the  lady  if  she  had  resided  long  in 
the  place,  to  which  she  replied  that  they  had  been 

there  but  a short  time,  and  that  the  city  of was 

their  native  place. 

44  4 Oh  no  !’  she  continued,  4 we  are  almost  as  much 
strangers  here  as  you  are  yourself.  Myself  and  my 
poor  children  came  here  recently,  and  are  compara- 


KATE  HAMILTON  AND  MRS.  WILSON.  311 

tively  strangers.  We  were-  forced  to  turn  our  backs 
upon  our  home . Yes,  yes  I’  sbe  continued,  in  a par- 
oxysm of  grief,  1 the  city  of is  our  native  place — • 

my  own,  and  the  birth-place  of  my  children.  It  will 
remain  so  forever ; but,  alas ! we  may  not  hope  that 
it  will  ever  again  be  our  home.  All  is  lost — all  that 
endeared  it  to  us  is  gone ! Our  home,  with  its  cher- 
ished objects,  has  been  swept  away  forever.  Other 
feet  are . moving,  and  other  hearts  are  happy,  at  this 
moment,  where  ours  once  trod,  and  where  our  hearts 
were  happy ; but  that  was  before  the  spoiler  came. 
Other  voices  are  ringing  in  merriment  through  halls 
which  once  were  familiar  with  ours,  and  other  children 
are  prattling  in  the  same  nursery  where  these  poor 
children  once  played ; and,  oh ! may  they  never  feel 
in  those  same  halls  the  bitterness  which  we  inherit ! 
By  what  fearful  temptations  is  poor  human  nature 
continually  surrounded,  and  especially  in  fashionable 
life  ! The  rich  may  often  do  what  the  poor  dare  not; 
but  this  is  a fearful  evidence  that  their  path  is  doubly 
perilous,  and  that  it  is  as  much  subjected  to  the  in- 
roads of  the  rumseller  as  in  the  path  of  the  poor. 
Miss  Hamilton,  he  has  ruined  us ! When  I look  at 
my  poor  children,  what  must  I think  of  him  ? When 
my  heart  turns  to  the  grave  yard,  can  I bless  him  ? 
When  I go  forth  in  thought  to  search  for  the  grave 
of  my  lost  one,  can  I have  words  of  kindness  for  him  ? 
No,  no  ! I cannot ; but  I will  not  curse  him.  I will 


312 


DICK  WILSON. 


leave  him  in  the  hands  of  that  God  from  whose  jndg 
ment  he  cannot  escape.  These  children,  four  years 
since,  had  before  them  the  prospect  of  ample  wealth, 
and  claimed  a place  in  the  best  society.  I say  the 
best,  for  so  it  is  called ; but  it’s  often  greatly  misnamed. 
Their  morning  was  as  bright  as  it  could  have  been  ; 
but  it  has  been  quickly  succeeded  by  a dark  day  of 
gloom  and  affliction.  What  are  they  now?  They 
are  young — they  are  innocent — they  are  uncomplain- 
ing. A murmur  is  scarcely  heard  from  them.  They 
are  poor,  and  to  a great  extent  they  are  uncared  for 
by  any  save  myself.  I have  this  picture  continually 
before  me.  I can  close  my  eyes,  but  I cannot  shut 
my  heart.  I see  them  shut  out  from  society;  and 
then  I see  the  fearful  consequences  which  necessarily 
follow — the  scoffs  and  the  insults  of  the  rude  and  the 
low-bred,  mingled  with  the  chilling  indifference  of  the 
proud.  I see  them  pouring  out  their  griefs  and  their 
tears  in  secret  places,  where  none  but  the  eye  of  God 
can  see  them ; and  when  I see  this,  how  painfully  ap- 
pears before  me  the  contrast  and  the  cause.  Oh,  yes  ! 
my  young  friend,  when  I see  all  this,  as  it  comes  un- 
bidden to  my  mind,  with  the  appalling  visage  of  some 
dark  spectre,  bearing  misery  to  the  hearts  of  those 
dear  ones  of  mine,  whom  a gracious  God  has  yet 
spared  to  me,  it  almost  drives  me  to  madness.  When 
I see  and  feel  this,  I cannot  help  concluding  that  the 
rumseller’s  business  is  humanity’s  bitterest  curse ; that 


KATE  HAMILTON  AND  MRS.  WILSON.  313 

he  who  pleads  for  it  is  doing  a flagrant  wrong  to  his 
kind.  I know  not  how  soon  this  fragile  form  of  mine 
may  bend  to  the  earth  before  the  rude  storm,  whose 
fury  has  loosened  my  hold  on  life.  My  children  may 
yet  become  the  inmates  of  the  poor-house,  but  while 
I live  I shall  labor  to  prevent  it. 

u 1 Our  circumstances,’  she  continued,  1 have  been 
very  different  from  what  they  are  now.  My  husband 

was  a wealthy  merchant  in  the  city  of . He 

had  a generous  disposition,  and  we  had  all  of  earthly 
comfort  that  our  hearts  could  desire.  We  had  joy, 
happiness,  friends.  We  supposed  that  these  things 
would  outlive  ourselves,  and  be  a portion  for  our  chil- 
dren. He  was  richly  endowed  with  all  the  social 
qualities  of  life,  and  his  manners  were  winning  in  the 
highest  degree.  He  loved  his  family  as  he  did  his 
life.  Our  style  of  living  was  fashionable.  In  this  re- 
spect, I can  truly  say,  that  it  amounted  to  folly  ; but 
then  we  could  not  avoid  it : for  our  circumstances,  to- 
gether with  our  position  in  fashionable  life,  fastened  it 
upon  us,  and  for  myself,  I endured  rather  than  enjoy- 
ed it.  We  suffered  this  cruel  species  of  slavery,  be- 
cause we  could  not  break  the  chain.  But  it  is  broken 
now — broken  by  its  own  rottenness,  and  just  when  it 
had  succeeded  in  paralyzing  those  energies  which 
should  have  been  free  to  meet  and  struggle  with  ad- 
versity. Our  side-board — ah ! yes,  here  was  our  fatal 
mistake — was  always  richly  furnished  with  sparkling 


314 


DICK  WILSON. 


decanters,  to  which  the  friend  was  always  made  wel- 
come, because  we  thought  there  was  no  harm  in  it,  and 
no  danger  to  be  apprehended  from  it ! It  seemed  to 
bring  cheer  to  their  hearts,  and  wit  and  sprightliness 
to  the  conversation  of  our  guests ; and  many  who 
have  forgotten  the  name  of  Mary  Wilson,  will  have 
difficulty  in  forgetting  the  kindness  with  which  their 
coming  was  always  greeted  at  our  house.  In  all  this 
we  saw  no  danger.  Our  children  were  growing  up 
around  us,  and  our  domestic  happiness  was  completed 
by  their  childish  love.  It  was  fashion' $ voice,  and  we 
obeyed  the  call ; for  it  promised  to  screen  us  from  the 
evil  hour,  if,  peradventure,  it  should  ever  come.  We 
never  thought  that  this  stream  would  overflow  its 
banks — we  never  dreamed  that  that  side-board  in  our 
own  house  was  opening  a path  to  the  bar  of  the  rumsel- 
ler.  There  was  one,  however,  who  saw  the  danger,  but 
who,  from  fear  of  offending,  did  not  mention  it  until 
it  became  apparent  to  myself.  One  day  a person  en- 
tered our  parlor  and  inquired  for  my  husband.  He 
was  an  old  minister,  whose  locks  had  been  whitened 
by  age,  and  who  was  an  intimate  friend  of  our  family. 
My  husband  and  myself  had  every  confidence  in  him, 
and  were  always  glad  to  see  him  entering  our  house, 
for  we  knew  that  our  good  was  the  object  he  sought 
to  promote.  My  husband  was  at  home,  but  at  first 
refused  to  come  into  the  parlor.  I expostulated  with 
him,  and  entreated  him  by  the  proverbial  civilities  of 


KATE  HAMILTON  AND  MBS.  WILSON.  315 

his  house  to  come  in  at  once.  I could  not  at  first  un- 
derstand why  he  was  so  reluctant  to  see  this  good  old 
man ; but  directly  the  truth  flashed  upon  my  mind, 
and  I said, — 

“ 1 Come,  Richard,  he  will  do  you  no  harm.  His 
visits  are  always  cheering,7  and  taking  him  by  the 
hand,  we  entered  the  parlor  together,  and  my  husband 
welcomed  him  with  genuine  cordiality.  In  the  society 
of  that  old  man,  no  one  could  have  kept  back  the  ac- 
knowledgment that  his  presence  rendered  the  very 
atmosphere  more  sacred.  On  this  occasion  he  was 
familiar  and  affable  as  usual,  and  yet,  although  he  had 
not  named  the  purpose  of  his  coming,  it  was  evident 
that  a sense  of  duty  had  directed  his  steps  to  our  door. 
For  some  moments  he  seemed  to  be  engaged  in  a 
struggle  with  his  own  feelings.  It  seemed  as  if  he 
were  looking  deeply  into  his  own  heart,  in  which  a 
sense  of  paramount  duty  was  struggling  with  the  very 
natural  fear  of  offending.  He  began  : 

“ 1 Mr.  Wilson,7  said  he,  ‘it  is  now  a little  more 
than  nine-and-thirty  years  since  a pious  mother,  now 
in  heaven,  I have  no  doubt,  committed  you  with  her 
dying  breath  to  God,  and  left  you  motherless  in  the 
world.  You  have  grown  up  to  manhood,  and  you 
are  surrounded  by  a young  family.  You  have  been 
blessed  with  all  the  comforts  that  the  world  can  give-: 
and  yet  I am  fearful  that  you  will  find  it  to  be  after 
all  a broken  staff.  I have  often  prayed^hat  the  pray- 


316 


DICK  WILSON. 


ers  of  your  mother  might  be  answered ; but  my  hopes 
are  every  day  declining.  Wealth  and  fashion  are 
fearful  obstacles  m the  way  of  a faithful  discharge  of 
duty.  It  has  been  so  with  me  on  many  occasions.  I 
have  come  to  your  house  before  on  the  same  errand 
which  has  brought  me  here  to-day,  and  I have  gone 
away  again  cast  down  and  discouraged — almost  re- 
solved to  let  you  go.  But  why  should  I fear  to  ap- 
proach this  subject,  or  conclude  that  it  will  be  thank- 
lessly received  ? If  I had  overheard  a band  of  incen- 
diaries covenanting  amongst  themselves,  that  at  the  sol- 
emn and  lonely  hour  of  midnight  they  would  fire  your 
dwelling,  I surely  would  hasten  to  you  with  the  tid- 
x ings,  and  you  would  thank  me  for  it,  too.  Or  if  I had 
heard  the  low,  stealthy  whispers  of  an  assassin  band, 
fixing  the  hour  of  your  destruction,  would  I not  has- 
ten to  you  to  warn  you  of  your  danger  ? and  would 
you  not  thank  me  for  it  ? Or  if  I knew  that  in  your 
absence  your  wife  and  your  children  were  to  be  hur- 
ried out  of  this  house  and  launched  into  the  jaws  of 
an  unrelenting  poverty,  would  I ‘not,  for  the  love  I 
bear  to  yourself,  your  wife  and  your  young  children, 
hasten  to  your  door,  break  in  upon  your  quiet  slum- 
bers, and  bid  you  to  be  watchful  ? — and  you  would 
thank  me  for  it  too.  Mr.  Wilson,  I see  all  this,  and 
more  than  all  this,  looming  in  terror  about  your  door. 
I see  ruin,  misery,  and  death  flocking  to  your  thresh- 
old, to  blight  its  joys.  I see  your  wife  and  children, 


KATE  HAMILTON  AND  MRS.  WILSON.  317 

unless  there  is  a rapid  change,  taking  a last,  a wild 
glance  at  all  that  is  left  there  to  love,  then  turning 
from  these  halls,  to  enter  them  no  more.  I see  them 
on  their  way  to  your  yet  fresh  grave,  to  consecrate  it 
with  tears.’ 

44 4 What  reason  have  you/  said  my  husband,  4 foi 
those  alarming  conjectures?  I apprehend  no  such 
danger  as  that  of  which  you  speak.  I know  no  cause 
for  alarm.’ 

“ ‘I  know,’  said  he,  4 that  the  wine-cup  is  obtain- 
ing the  mastery  over  you ; there  is,  therefore,  most 
imminent  danger.’ 

44  ‘ I do  not  think  it  is,’  replied  my  husband. 

44 4 Ah ! Mr.  Wilson,  that  increases  the  danger.  You 
do  not  see  it  yourself ; if  you  did,  you  might  avoid  it.’ 

4 4 4 Well,  it  is  strange,  sir,’  said  my  husband,  4 if  such 
is  the  fact,  that  I should  not  know  it.  I think  I am 
safe  enough,  however.’ 

44  4 Well,  I am  sorry  that  you  think  so.  I wish  it 
were  true  ; but  a long  experience  has  taught  me  that 
with  perseverance  in  this  way,  ruin — the  ruin  of  every- 
thing— is  inevitable.  I am  sure  the  wine-cup  is  be- 
coming your  master.  I do  not  see  the  evidence  of 
this  in  your  domestic  circle ; nor  do  I see  it  so  much 
upon  your  cheek,  as  I do  in  the  grass-grown  path  of 
your  former  life — a path  in  which  you  were  wont  to 
travel  in  the  discharge  of  high  and  sacred  obligations. 
This  path  is  closing,  and  I see  a fresh  path,  which  is 


818 


DICK  WILSON. 


every  day  widening  and  deepening,  from  your  door- 
stone  to  the  place  of  sin  and  death. ; and  there  I see 
you  sitting  with  apparent  satisfaction,  in  the  rumsel- 
ler’s  den.  Ah ! my  friend,  he  is  skilled  in  his  busi- 
ness. He  knows  every  turn  in  the  road  along  which 
yourself  and  your  possessions  are  coming  into  his 
power.  I have  not  seen  you  engaging  in  the  revels 
which  are  usual  in  many  of  those  places ; but  you 
have  argued  in  favor  of  the  liberty  to  sell  rum.  Your 
temperament,  Mr.  Wilson,  is  of  the  kind  which  will 
move  you  fast  in  whatever  direction  you  take.  You 
are  unsuspecting,  and  hence  direful  consequences  will 
come  to  you  unexpectedly,  and  before  you  are  aware 
of  it.  Forsake  your  course  quickly,  as  you  love  your 
own  soul— your  own  peace — as  you  love  your  family, 
as  you  love  everything  that  is  dear  upon  the  earth,  or 
sacred  in  heaven.  Forsake  it,  and  return  again  to 
duty,  to  peace  and  hope.  As  you  have  been  in  the 
bar-room  from  time  to  time,  have  you  not  frequently 
met  with  those  who  were  habitually  there,  wasting 
themselves  and  squandering  the  little  for  which  pen- 
ury was  pleading  at  home  ? Beware  of  these  associa- 
tions, Mr.  Wilson,  for  they  will  ruin  you.  Beware  of 
your  own  conduct,  too,  for  you  may  ruin  hundreds. 
Your  position  gives  you  influence  to  do  harm  as  well 
as  good.  You  may  ruin  your  own  family,  and  you 
may  wound  a thousand  hearts,  and  cause  them  to 
bleed  through  the  whole  journey  of  life.’ 


KATE  HAMILTON  AND  MRS.  WILSON.  319 

“ After  engaging  in  a fervent  prayer,  the  echoes  of 
which  are  yet  alive  in  my  heart,  he  rose  to  leave ; but 
on  reaching  the  door,  to  which  my  husband  had  ac- 
companied him,  he  suddenly  halted,  and  taking  him 
by  the  hand,  said : 

“ ‘ Now,.  Mr.  Wilson,  I beseech  you,  by  the  memo- 
ries  of  those  who  are  sleeping  on  the  shores  of  the 
Delaware ; I beseech  you  by  the  loves  and  the  hopes 
of  the  living ; I beseech  you  as  a husband,  father, 
friend;  I beseech  you  by  everything,  present  and 
future,  and  by  all  that  pertains  to  the  endearing  rela- 
tions of  life ; for  the  sake  of  crushed  and  bleeding 
humanity  ; for  the  sake  of  your  own  present  and  eter- 
nal interests,  and  in  view  of  your  dying  hour — turn 
yourself  and  your  influence  against  the  rumseller.’ 

a After  he  had  gone,  my  husband  sat  down  for  a 
moment,  as  if  appalled  by  what  had  passed.  There 
was  no  evidence  of  passion  in  his  countenance,  and 
rising  in  an  agitated  manner;  he  commenced  pacing 
the  room.  Suddenly  he  came  up  to  me,  and  taking 
me  by  the  hand,  said : 

“ ‘Mary,  can  you  tell  me  what  Mr.  J means? 

I was  not  prepared  for  such  a shock  as  this.  It  is  both 
sudden  and  strange.  Surely  he  does  not  think  that  I 
am  a drunkard  ! Then  what  under  the  heavens  does 
it  mean?  Do  you  think  any  of  the  children  over- 
heard the  conversation?  If  they  did,  you  must  right 
it  in  some  way.’ 


320 


DICK  WILSON. 


“‘You  can  do  this,  Richard,’  I replied,  ‘better 
than  I can,  and  without  speaking  a single  word  to 
them.’ 

“ ‘ How,  Mary  ?’  he  immediately  inquired. 

“‘Ah!  my  husband,’  I continued,  ‘ can’t  you  tell 
how  ? Go  a little  into  the  past  history  of  our  home, 
and  see  if  you  cannot  get  my  meaning.  I have 
never  chided  nor  reproved  you  harshly,  and  I never 
will ; but  still  I am  not  blind.’ 

“ ‘ Mary  what  do  you  mean  ? — for  heaven’s  sake  tell 
me  and  I will  do  anything  that  is  not  absolutely  im- 
possible.’ 

“ ‘ Richard,’  I replied,  ‘ do  you  remember  the  pride 
and  pleasure  you  once  took  in  spending  your  evenings 
in  the  society  of  your  family?  Do  you  remember 
how  often  you  have  quoted  to  me  those  beautiful 
lines — 

w Home ! who  can  tell 
The  touching  power  of  that  most  sacred  word, 

Save  he  who  feels  and  weeps  that  he  has  none  V” 

“ ‘ Yes,  Mary,  I do  remember,  and  they  are  dear  to 
me  now.’ 

“‘Are  they  as  dear  as  they  once  were;  or  are 
beauty  and  loveliness  passing  from  the  cheeks  of 
those  dear  children  ?’ 

“ ‘ Mary,’  said  he,  while  the  tears  rolled  down  his 
cheeks,  ‘ they  are  dear  to  me — they  are  a part  of  my 
being.  You  do  not  think  that  these  children  could 
lose  their  place  in  my  affections  ?’ 


KATE  HAMILTON  AND  MBS.  WILSON.  321 

“ ‘ But,  my  husband,’  I replied,  ‘ others  have  the 
power  to  rob  us  of  your  society.’ 

“ ‘ Oh ! Mary,  it  is  my  business  that  is  pressing  me 
—necessity  compels  me  to  be  absent  from  you.’ 

Bichard,  is  it  not  the  necessity  of  which  our 
friend  has  spoken.’ 

“ ‘Do  you  think  he  could  have  seen  me  there?’ 

“ ‘ Where  ?’  I inquired. 

“ ‘ No  matter,’  said  he,  ‘ I was  wandering.’ 
u ‘Do  tell  me,  Bichard,  where  you  meant?’ 

“ ‘ Yes,  Mary,  I may  as  well  tell  you — I mean  the 
rumsellers — and  you  have  as  good  a right  to  know  as 
any  one  else.’ 

“ ‘ Ah!  that  is  what  I feared,’  I replied.  ‘ That  has 
troubled  me.  The  rumseller’s  work!  Let  heaven 
name  it  properly  ; for  as  yet  it  has  not  a name  which 
denotes  its  dark  character.  I have  seen  its  fruits  in 
the  face  of  age  and  childhood,  as  they  have  come  to 
our  door  for  charity,  and  I thank  God  that  I have 
always  tried  to  sympathize  with  them ; for  the  day 
may  come  when  we  may  need  the  sympathy  of  others ! 
Oh ! Richard  won’t  you  promise  me  that  you  will  for- 
sake those  unworthy  associates,  and  that  you  will  turn 
your  influence  against  them  at  once  ? Won’t  you  join 
with  the  humane  in  prayer  to  God  against  this  busi- 
ness, which  is  rife  with  every  misfortune.’ 

“ ‘ Yes  Mary,’  said  he,  ‘ I will  promise  you  that  I 
will  at  once  forsake  these  men,  and  these  places.  I 
N*  21 


322 


DICK  WILSON. 


know  what  they  are  better  than  you  do.  You  have 
only  seen  the  product  of  their  labor — I have  seen  the 
machinery  in  its  terrible  operation.  I promise  you, 
and  I call  God  to  witness,  that  I will  forsake  them.  I 
never  knew  what  misery  was,  until  I became  familiar 
with  it  at  these  haunts.’ 

“ 1 At  the  sound  of  these  words,  my  heart  leaped 
for  joy,  and  I thanked  God  fervently  for  having  sent 
his  servant  on  that  day  to  our  house.  Again  the  holy 
lamp  of  life  was  lighted,  and  burned  brightly  in  my 
soul,  because  I thought  it  was  burning  with  like  bril- 
liancy in  the  bosom  of  my  husband.  Alas ! how  little 
after  all  did  we  know  of  the  rumseller’s  power ! I did 
not  think  that  it  could  throw  itself  into  the  domestic 
circle,  and  lead  out  its  reluctant  victim  to  the  slaugh- 
ter ! It  has  done  it.  The  law , the  boast  of  civiliza- 
tion, sanctions  it.  I am  its  witness — these  children 
are  seals  set  to  its  truth.’  ” 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


WHAT  RUM  DOES. 


“ Fly  from  the  wine  cup, 

Though  pleasure  may  swim 
In  the  bright  rosy  bubbles 
That  float  round  the  brim. 

Far  down  ’neath  the  depths 
Of  the  read  wine  that  flows, 

Lurks  the  Syren  that  lures 
To  the  yortex  of  woes.” 

“ ‘ If  I had  known,’  continued  Mrs.  Wilson,  1 what 
a fearful  power  the  rumseller  swayed  over  his  victim, 
I could  hardly  have  cherished  a single  hope  for  my 
husband’s  safety.  Such  knowledge,  however,  at  that 
time,  was  impossible ; for  then  I could  not  suspect  a 
human  being  of  such  absolute  cruelty.  If  I had  then 
understood  that  its  charm  was  serpent-lilce  in  its  charac- 
ter, and  that  it  never  removed  its  eye  from  its  prey 
until  its  victim  entered  its  jaws — then  I should  have 
resigned  my  husband  to  his  inevitable  destiny,  and 
given  myself  to  preparation  for  the  worst.  For  a time 
I was  happy  again — happy  in  the  presence  of  my  hus- 
band, as  when  mutually  we  smiled  upon  our  first- 
born. Our  children  seemed  happier — everything  ap- 
peared more  lovely,  and  to  me  it  seemed  as  if  the  fast 


324 


DICK  WILSON. 


wilting  leaves  of  hope  had  suddenly  ceased  to  wither, 
and  had  arrayed  themselves  once  more  in  freshness 
and  in  beauty.  Oh  ! what  a broad,  deep,  and  sacred 
foundation  does  that  hope,  which  concentrates  in  the 
well-being  of  a loved  one,  lay  in  the  soul,  and  how 
does  the  full  tides  of  interest  and  affection  love  to 
sport  at  its  base,  and  rejoice  in  its  success.  One  morn- 
ing, as  my  husband  was  leaving  the  breakfast  table, 
in  better  spirits  and  with  a more  cheerful  manner  than 
he  had  manifested  in  many  days,  he  called  me  aside 
and  said, — 

“ 4 Mary,  you  look  happier  than  you  have  done  in 
months.  Everything  seems  to  be  clad  in  new  life.  It 
is  strange  that  I should  not  have  seen  this  before.  I 
never  supposed  that  anything  could  hold  such  a spell 
over  my  being,  as  to  darken  my  mind,  and  mutilate 
my  hopes  and  my  happiness  at  the  same  time.  I feel, 
and  have  felt  for  days,  as  one  who  had  been  brought 
back  from  the  grave,  or  as  one  who  had  been  released 
from  the  grasp  of  uncompromising  tyranny.  Oh ! the 
headaches  and  the  heartaches  of  that  path ! — the  gloom, 
the  anticipations  of  a lingering  death  on  earth ; and 
then — oh  yes  ! and  thei  the  lingering  death — which, 
in  the  far  beyond,  still  linked  to  life,  utterly  refuses 
to  die!  Don’t  you  think,  Mary,  it  was  a happy  thing 
for  us  that  God  sent  that  old  man  to  our  house  to 
alarm  me — -to  warn  me  of  danger  ?’ 

u 1 My  heart  was  wild  with  glad  emotion,  and  I 


WHAT  RUM  DOES. 


325 


answered,  yes,  dear  Richard,  I think  it  was ; and  I 
am  sure  we  can  never  be  sufficiently  thankful ; for 
you  were  well-nigh  hopelessly  tangled  in  the  meshes 
of  the  rumseller’s  net.’ 

“ 1 There  is  no  doubt  about  that,  Mary,’  said  he, 
{ but  you  can  know  but  little  of  its  peril.  Indeed,  it 
is  impossible  for  any  one  to  know  it,  except  those  who 
have  unconsciously  fallen  under  its  lash,  and  smarted 
from  its  stripes  ! But,  you  must  pray  for  me  ; for  as 
much  as  I love  yon,  much  as  I idolize  our  dear  chil- 
dren, and  much  as  I value  our  domestic  peace  and 
happiness,  I must  tell  you  that  it  is  difficult  for  me  to 
keep  my  resolution,  and  realize  the  cherished  wish  of 
my  heart.  You  may  think  this  strange ; but  wherever 
I turn,  I meet  the  temptation  to  forswear  myself,  and 
jeopardize  every  interest  of  my  life.  To  get  without 
the  reach  of  it  is  impossible.  In  every  street,  and  at 
every  corner,  start  out  those  forces,  before  which  a 
trembling  resolution  falters — generally  falls!  These 
temptations, — ah  ! Jiere  is  the  secret — before  them 
everything  gives  way  ! Remove  them  and  the  poor 
drunkard  will  make  and  keep  his  resolution  to  live 
soberly  ; but  until  this  is  done,  nine  out  of  every  ten 
will  fall — fall  hopelessly  and  forever!’ 

“‘We  had  many  conversations  of  this  kind,  and  I 
hoped  and  believed,  notwithstanding  the  danger  by 
which  my  husband  was  surrounded,  that  he  was  safe ! 
I thought  our  happiness  secured.  It  was,  a [tear  ail,  a 


326 


DICK  WILSON. 


dream;  and  why  did  I permit  myself  to  hope?  The 
rumseller ! the  rumseller ! It  is  his  to  abrogate  every 
oath  which  his  marked  victim  may  have  taken  before 
the  altar  of  affection,  in  the  heart  of  his  beseeching 
wife  and  children ! It  is  his  to  stand  by  till  the  last 
drop  of  blood  has  fallen  to , the  ground ; and  then  to 
exclaim,  with  inhuman  indifference — “ It  is  a pity  that 
he  ruined  himself!  He  was  indeed  a clever  fellow ; 
but  he  would  have  rum !”  Himself,  indeed ! Look 
at  your  victim  ! His  blood  has  flowed  out — his  eye 
is  closed — his  heart  is  quiet ! Did  you  not  measure 
out  to  him  the  poison  ? Then,  like  Cain,  you  have 
slain  your  brother.  This  is  the  verdict  rendered,  not 
only  by  widows  and  orphans,  but  by  humanity  at 
large.  Gradually  I saw  that  the  resolution  of  my  hus- 
band was  giving  way  before  the  temptations  by  which 
he  was  beset,  and  soon  his  time  was  given  again  to 
the  society  of  the  bar-room — the  deadly  upas  from 
which  I feared  he  could  not  escape.  My  hopes  were 
almost  dead,  and  I had  well-nigh  concluded  that  it 
would  be  useless  to  attempt  his  reformation.  Ah ! 
but  thought  I,  that  victim  is  my  husband.  Our 
mutual  oaths  went  up  together  to  heaven,  and  were 
recorded  there,, side  by  side;  and  now  shall  I give 
him  up,  and  let  him  die  as  the  brute  dieth  ? The  in- 
stincts of  a wife,  of  a mother,  forbid  it.  On  one  plea- 
sant morning,  when  Everything  without  was  bright 
and  beautiful,  and  when  everything  within  my  heart 


WHAT  HUM  DOES. 


327 


was  sad  and  cheerless,  I took  him  into  the  parlor,'  that 
we  might  be  alone,  and  then  said  to  him — 1 Eichard, 
this  is  a lovely  morning,7  and  in  an  abstracted  manner 
he  said, — 

“ ‘-Yes,  Mary,  it  is  ; but  I must  really  go.  I have 
some  important  business  this  morning,  which  is  wait- 
ing for  me,  at  the  store.7 

“ ‘ I understood  it,  and  said — Tell  me,  Eichard, 
may  I hope  any  longer  ?7 

u 1 Mary,7  he  replied,  1 it  is  useless  for  me  to  try. 
My  resolution  is  broken,  and  it  would  avail  me  no- 
thing if  I should  resolve  again.  You  had  better  make 
up  your  mind  to  the  worst ; for,  Mary,  it  will  come. 
I cannot  prevent  it,  and  I fear  it  is  not  far  off.  They 
have  too  much  power  over  me.  I am  too  weak  to 
stand  against  the  temptation.  There  was  a time  when 
I could  have  done  it ; but  that  time  is  past,  and  I be 
seech  you,  let  me  go  !7 

u 1 How  can  I do  this?7  I inquired.  For  some  mo- 
ment she  made  no  reply.  He  had  placed  his  hand- 
kerchief to  his  face,  and  was  weeping  bitterly.  His 
whole  frame  denoted  intense  agitation.  Oh ! Miss 
Hamilton,  that  was  a fearful  sight  to  look  upon:  to 
see  the  father  and  the  husband  bathed  in  tears  and 
trembling  in  agony,  dragged  out  from  the  loves  of  his 
own  house  by  the  witchery  of  rum.  At  length  he 
said  to  me, — 

1 1 feel  that  I cannot  recover  myself.  If  any  one, 


S28 


DICK  WILSON". 


two  years  since,  had  pointed  to  this  fearful  moment,  I 
would  have  asked  the  question,  ‘‘Am  I a dog  that  I 
should  do  this  thing  ?77  But  it  is  done,  and  now  I can- 
not help  it !’ 

“ 1 You  love  me,  Bichard  V I replied. 

“ ‘ Yes,  Mary,  as  I ever  did.7 

“ 1 And  you  love  your  children?7 

“ 1 Yes  ; poor  children — I love  them,  but  they  will 
have  but  little  cause  either  to  love  or  respect  my  me- 
mory. What  is  to  become  of  them  ? My  character 
is  ruined  not  only,  but  my  estate  also ! Ah ! you  will 
soon  know  all.  The  prediction  of  our  old  friend  is 
rapidly  fulfilling.  The  storm  has  gathered,  and  is 
ready  to  break.7 

“ L Bichard,7  I continued,  1 wont  you  resolve,  and 
try  again  ? Oh  ! if  it  be  possible  for  you  to  escape, 
do  not  give  yourself  up  to  destruction.  Your  wife — • 
your  children — yourself!  Oh,  God ! must  all  be  lost ! 
Won’t  you  try  again  ?7 

“ 4 My  dear  wife  !7  he  replied,  1 you  know  not'Bow 
the  strong  man  trembles,  and  how  he  writhes  in  utter 
hopelessness,  when  he  has  once  become  the  slave  that 
I am.  I would  do  anything  to  be  free  again,  but  it  is 
too  late.  Mary,  make  up  your  mind  to  let  me  go,  and 
as  soon  as  possible  let  the  cold  grave  hide  me,  since 
for  me  there  is  no  more  peace,  and  I live  only  to  dis- 
grace you  and  our  dear  family.7 

n 1 1 hope,  Miss  Hamilton,  that  your  heart  will  never 


WHAT  BUM  DOES. 


329 


be  rent  by  the  influence  of  sucb  a terrifie  moment. 
During  that  day,  for  the  sake  of  my  children,  I as- 
sumed an  air  of  composure ; impressed,  however,  with 
a feeling  that  the  worst  would  soon  come.  At  this 
moment  one  of  the  servants  came  in,  and  announced 
the  entrance  of  Mrs.  Philips,  one  whom,  of  all  others 
of  my  acquaintance,  I least  desired  to  see.  She  was 
a married^Jady,  of  middle  age,  to  whom  fortune  had 
come  suddenly,  and  she  was  one  of  the  most  envious 
spirits  I ever  knew.  As  soon  as  she  recovered  from 
her  affected  sympathy,  and  had  satisfied  herself  with 
a survey  of  our  parlor,  she  said, — 

u 4 Mrs.  Wilson,  it  is  hard— very  hard — absolutely 
cruel.  You  can’t,  endure  it — it’s, dreadful  hard  to  suf- 
fer all  this — it  will  kill  you.  It’s  a shame  for  people 
to  take  such  advantages.  I did  not  think,  Mrs.  Wil- 
son, that  there  were  such  mean , dishonest  people  in  this 
city.  This  fine  hguse  and  furniture,  and  yourself  and 
your  swfet  children ! Has  there  been  any  one  here 
yet,  to  look  at  your  furniture  ? All  these  nice  things 
must  go,  and  I dare  say  they  will  go  cheap.  That’s 
an  elegant  piano — pure  rose-wood  ; and  these  carpets 
— in  fact,  everything  is  of  the  best  quality.  I would 
like  to  have  some  of  these  things.  Ever  since  I heard 
of  the  advertisement,  I have  hardly  slept  a wink.  I 
presume  you  would  be  just  as  willing  that  I should  have 
some  of  them,  as  any  one  else.  You  would  rather  see 
them  taken  by  your  friends  than  by  strangers.’ 


330 


DICK  WILSON. 


“‘I  was  almost  stupefied,  and  inquired  wliat  slie 
meant. 

“ 1 Why,  dear  me,  Mrs.  Wilson,  don’t  you  know  ? 
Why,  you  are  to  be  sold  out  of  everything  which  the 
law  don't  allow  you , in  three  weeks.  Your  husband 
is  broke  clear  down ; and  everybody  says  that  it  will 
be  impossible  for  him  to  recover.  His  store  is  closed, 
and  has  been  for  two  days.  I am  told,  and  I suppose 
it  is  true  enough,  that  in  one  gambling  establishment 
in  this  city,  he  has  been  robbed,  in  the  way  of  loaning 
to  gamblers,  of  about  one  hundred  thousand  dollars, 
in  the  last  year ! This  is  all  true,  I assure  you  I’ 

“ ‘ I had  been  looking  for  trouble  ; I had  made  up 
my  mind  on  that  morning,  that  it  wa£  inevitable.  But 
then,  after  all,  I was  not  prepared  for  anything  like 
this.  If  wdiat  I had  just  heard  was  indeed  true,  I 
knew  how  it  had  been  brought  about.  My  husband 
was  not  a gambler;  of  that  I was^certain.  I knew 
that  he  was  generous,  and  that  perhaps  when  blinded 
by  strong  drink,  he  had  been  robbed  of  the  rrifeans  on 
which  we  were  dependent  for  subsistence. 

“‘Mr.  Wilson  did  not  return  that  evening,  as  he 
usually  did,  to  tea,  and  after  waiting  for  several  hours, 
I sent  a servant  out  to  look  for  him.  I directed  him 
first  to  go  to  the  house  of  a rumseller,  at  which  I knew 
my  husband  had  been  in  the  habit  of  spending  much 
of  his  time.  The  servant  soon  returned,  and  I saw  in 
a moment  that  something  was  wrong,  and  in  * answer 


WHAT  HUM  HOES. 


331 


to  my  question,  lie  immediately  informed  me  that  he 
had  seen  Mr.  Wilson  in  the  bar-room  of  the  house  to 
which  I had  sent  him,  bleeding  profusely.  I lost  no 
time,  but  with  my  servant,  immediately  hastened 
thither.  The  saloon,  or  bar-room,  was  filled  with 
rowdies.  Finding  it  impossible  to  press  my  way 
through  the  crowd,  I entered  a room  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  hall.  This  was  filled  with  persons  of  gen- 
teel and  quiet  appearance ; they  were  strangers,  and 
were  engaged  in  conversation,  and  I overheard  one 
saying,  4 1 think  he  has  nearly  killed  him.’  As  soon 
•as  I could  find  words,  I said  to  them, — 

44  4 Gentleman,  can  you  tell  me  if  there  has  been  a 
person  badly  injured  here  to-night?’ 

44  4 ifes  madam,  there  has,’  replied  a gentleman  of 
strong,  muscular  appearance.  This  was  the  only  mo- 
ment of  my  life  that  I ever  felt  as  if  summary  ven- 
geance W013I&  be  sweet.  I asked  the  gentleman  if  he 
would  have  the  kindness  to  ask  the  proprietor  to  walk 
into  tHfiat  room.  I had  seated  myself  facing  the  door, 
and  when  it  was  opened,  I saw  that  the  crowd  had 
dispersed.  In  a moment  the  proprietor  entered,  and 
I at  once  asked  him  if  my  husband  was  in  his  house. 
Tie  turned  from  me  suddenly,  as  if  intending  to  de- 
part at  once,  without  answering  my  question ; and  in 
my  agony  I cried  out,  4 Stop,  villain!  You  cannot 
escape  in  this  way.’  He  stopped,  and  collecting  him- 
self, said  to  me,  with  an  air  of  superiority  : 


3S2 


DICK  WILSON. 


u ‘ What  business  have  you  in  this  house,  madam  V 

“ ‘ I am  in  search  of  my  husband,7  I replied. 

“ ‘ Who  is  your  husband  ?7 

“ ‘ Richard  Wilson  !7 

“ ‘ He  is  not  here,  and  has  not  been  here  to-night.7 

“ ‘ Do  you  say,  sir,  that  my  husband  has  not  been 
here?7 

“ ‘ I do,  madam.7 

“ ‘My  husband  has  been  here,  sir,  and  is  now  in 
your  house,  either  dead  or  alive — God  only  knows 
which.  I will  find  him,  sir.  It  is  folly  for  you  to  at- 
tempt to  deceive  me.  My  servant  saw  him  in  your 
house  this  evening,  with  the  marks  of  violence  upon 
his  person.  If  you  have  murdered  him  at  last,  I be- 
seech you  in  the  name  of  mercy,  let  me  see  his  body, 
that  I may  give  it  a decent  burial.7 

“‘Madam,7  said  he,  ‘if  Richard  Wilson  is  your 
husband,  you  cannot  see  him  this  evening.  He  has 
retired  in  a state  of  intoxication,  and  does  not  wish  to 
see  you.7 

“ ‘ How  do  you  know,  sir,  that  he  does  not  wish 
to  see  me  ?7 

“ ‘ You  can7t  see  him,  madam  ; and  you  may  as  well 
leave  this  house,7  he  replied,  as  he  turned  to  leave  the 
room. 

“ ‘Landlord,7  cried  a voice  behind  me,  which  I at 
once  recognized  as  that  of  the  person  who  had  called 
him  into  the  room,  ‘ if  you  take  another  step,  you  do 


WHAT  RUM  DOES. 


333 


it  at  the  peril  of  your  life.  Another  step,  and  the  re- 
cord of  your  abominable  crimes  will  meet  you  in  the 
judgment.  Stir  not,  sir;  attempt  not  to  leave  this 
room,  and  know  from  one  who  has  the  power  to  com- 
mand your  craven  spirit,  that  this  lady  shall  see  her 
husband,  and  instantly,  too.  God  only  knows  in  what 
situation  she  may  find  him.  It  may  be  dying,  or  al- 
ready dead.’ 

“ 1 With  the  true  instinct  of  a spiritless  coward,  he 
brought  volleys  of  oaths  to  his  assistance,  declaring 
that  Mr.  Wilson  should  not  be  seen.5 

“ 1 Then,’  continued  the  gentleman  in  whose  pres- 
ence he  was  trembling,  1 1 understand  that  it  is  your 
determination,  sir,  that  this  lady  cannot  be  permitted 
to  see  her  husband.’ 

tuYou  understand  me  right,  sir,’  was  the  surly 
reply. 

61  1 Well^teir,’  said  the  gentleman,  1 it  is  my  deter- 
mination that  she  shall  see  him,  at  once ; no  matter 
through  what,  or  to  what,  it  may  lead ;’  and  then 
turning  to  the  company,  not  one  of  whom,  during  the 
conversation,  had  said  a word,  he  said : 

“ 1 Gentlemen,  for  the  most  part,  we  are  strangers 
to  each  other.  I am  not  naturally  quarrelsome,  and 
yet  I am  not  a coward.  You  have  all  seen  in  what  a 
dastardly  manner  conjugal  devotion  has  been  set  at 
defiance,  and  insulted  by  this  wretch.  You  have  seen 
the  wife  come  here  to  find  her  husband.  She  has  been 


334 


DICK  WILSON. 


refused  to  see  him,  though  he  may  be  dying  under 
this  roof.  Gentlemen,  here  is  a duty  for  us  to  per- 
form ; and  whatever  consequences  may  attend  it,  the 
man  shall  be  found.  Let  ns  make  this  case  our  own, 
and  suppose  that  our  wives  or  our  sisters  were  trying 
to  gain  admission  to  our  sick  or  dying  rooms,  and 
were  thus  inhumanly  and  brutishly  repulsed,  would 
we  not  invoke  the  stranger’s  arm,  to  intefere  for 
us?’ 

“ ‘ He  took  a lamp  from  the  table,  and  advancing 
toward  the  trembling  miscreant,  he  said,  1 Take  this 
light,  sir.’ 

“ 1 In  an  instant,  every  one  in  the  room  was  on  his 
feet,  and  it  was  evident  enough  that  they  were  pre- 
pared to  act  with  firmness  and  decision. 

“ 1 There  can  be  but  little  doubt,’  said  the  stranger, 
‘ but  this  den  has  its  keepers — those  who  will  defend 
it,  in  order  to  hide  from  justice  the  evidence  of  their 
crimes.  Let  us,  therefore,  remember  that  duty  is  call- 
ing us  to  this  encounter,  and  if  we  must  fight — nay, 
if  it  be  necessary  to  tear  this  infernal  den  to  pieces,  we 
will  do  it  !7 

“ 1 Addressing  the  rumseller,  he  said  : 

“ 1 Now,  sir,  lead  us  instantly  to  the  place  where 
you  have  concealed  this  lady’s  husband ! Let  nothing 
tempt  you  to  lead  us  into  an  ambuscade,  for  in  that 
case,  you  will  be  the  first  to  fall.’ 

“ 1 He  took  the  lamp,  and  with  a trembling  step,  he 


WHAT  RUM  DOES. 


335 


proceeded.  After  passing  up  to  the  fifth  and  last  story 
of  the  house,  in  a small  room,  which,  from  the  frag- 
ments that  were  scattered  through  it,  plainly  indicated 
that  it  was  occupied  by  the  lowest  class  of  servants, 
I found  my  husband — no  light — no  water — no  friend 
near  him,  and  literally  clotted  in  his  own  blood ! 
Here  the  rumseller  placed  the  lamp  on  an  old  box 
which  stood  in  the  room,  and  appeared  to  be  about 
leaving  us. 

“ ‘ Stop,’  said  the  stranger,  ‘ we  are  not  done  with 
you  yet.  Make  no  attempt  to  leave.’ 

“‘He  appeared  to  be  entirely  unconscious  either 
that  myself  or  others  were  by  his  side.  I spoke  to 
him,  and  asked  him  if  he  knew  me.  An  expression 
of  wildness  passed  over  his  features,  and  he  spoke 
faintly,  and  yet  so  that  all  in  the  room  could  hear  : 

“ ‘ My  God  ! Mary,  is  that  you  ? Has  it  come  to 
this  ? They  have  succeeded  at  last ! Oh ! for  God’s 
sake,  take  me  from  this  place  quickly.  Do  not  let  me 
die  here  ! Take  me  home,  that  I may  see  once  more 
those  dear  children,  who  are  ruined !’ 

“ ‘ After  speaking  thus,  he  said : 

“ ‘ Who  are  those  men  ?’ 

“ ‘ 1 informed  him  they  were  gentlemen  who  had 
assisted  me  in  finding  him.  He  then  said  : 

“ ‘Well,  I am  lost!  lost!  lost! — but  God  bless  them 
and  their  wives  and  children,  and  keep  their  feet  from 
learning  the  bitter  way  in  which  I have  trod.’ 


336 


DICK  WILSON. 


“‘As  reason  returned,  lie  fixed  his  eve  upon  the 
guilty  rumseller,  and  said  : 

““Your  victim  is  in  a dying  state.  There,  sir,  is 
my  wife:  you  have  robbed  her  of  everything.  My 
young  children! — you  have  stolen  the  bread  from 
their  mouths,  and  hope  and  happiness  from  their 
hearts.  God  reward  you  !’ 

“ L I must  cover  up  the  scenes  by  which  this  event 
was  immediately  succeeded.  I cannot  wring  my  heart 
and  bleed  it  afresh  by  a narration  of  the  fearful  history 
of  the  few  days  which  elapsed  before  the  death  of  my 
husband,  which  was  immediately  followed  by  the  death 
of  a lovely  daughter.  A few  hours  after  we  had  re- 
turned from  the  funeral,  and  while  we  were  grouped 
together  with  a few  friends  in  the  parlor,  who  were 
endeavoring  to  console  our  desolate  hearts,  we  were 
startled  by  the  entrance  of  a civil  officer,  who  in- 
formed us  that  all  our  personal  property  was  under 
execution  and  was  to  be  sold  in  a short  time.  This 
was  new  to  my  children,  but  at  that  moment  they 
seemed  to  have  been  so  entirely  broken  in  spirits  that 
the  intelligence  of  this  new  calamity,  by  which  they 
were  to  be  beggared,  did  not  seem  to  affect  them. 
They  looked  at  each  other,  and  at  me,  but  not  a word 
was  spoken.  The  officer,  with  whom  I had  no  ac- 
quaintance, was  still  standing  in  the  room,  apparently 
waiting  an  answer  from  me,  and  I said  to  him . 

“ 1 1 understand  you,  sir.7 


WHAT  RUM  DOES. 


337 


u 4 Well,  madam/  said  lie,  4 it  has  been  enjoined 
upon  me  by  those  for  whose  benefit  your  property 
has  been  levied  upon,  to  take  security  for  its  safe  de- 
livery on  the  day  of  sale,  or  to  remove  it  at  once  to 
the  quarters  of  an  auctioneer.  This,  madam,  I cannot 
and  will  not  do.  I know  how  these  afflictions  have 
been  brought  upon  you,  and  I know  into  whose  pock- 
ets the  proceeds  of  your  property  will  go.  I think  it 
would  be  an  act  of  justice  and  mercy  to  raze  many  of 
those  places  in  this  city  to  their  foundations.  . -Efeaven 
forbid  that  I should  add  to  your  sufferings.  I will 
neither  remove  your  goods  nor  take  security.  I have 
no  fear  about  them.’ 

44  4 1 assured  him  that  nothing  should  be  removed, 
and  he  left.  The  day  of  sale  arrived,  and  we  saw  ar- 
ticle after  article  passing  from  our  possession.  This 
was  severe.  Those  cherished  things  wasting  and  scat- 
tering in  our  presence,  was  almost  beyond  endurance ; 
but  the  law  allowed  the  rumseller  to  be  paid  for  his 
work,  and  we  knew  they  must  go.  It  was  late  in  the 
evening  when  the  sale  closed,  and  it  was  quite  dark 
before  the  last  articles  were  removed  by  the  purchas- 
ers, so  that  it  was  necessary  for  us  to  remain  in  the 
house  during  the  night.  This  was  not  our  intention  ; 
for  through  the  kindness  of  a trusty  but  poor  old 
Scotchman,  we  had  procured  a very  small  house  in  a 
retired  part  of  the  city,  to  which  it  was  our  intention 
to  have  removed  that  day.  This,  however,  we  could 
0 22 


338 


DICK  WILSON, 


not  do,  it  being  necessary  for  ns  to  wait  nntil  all  was 
oyer,  to  know  what  we  might  carry  with  ns.  To  ns, 
that  was  a bitter,  gloomy  night.  Everything  but  the 
meager  allowance  of  the  law  was  gone,  and  I have 
often  thonght  that  those  who  are  excusing  themselves 
by  saying  that  they  can  do  nothing  to  stay  this  cur- 
rent of  ruin,  would,  had  they  been  present,  have  been 
awakened  and  enlightened,  and  moved  to  action. 
Through  that  long  and  cheerless  night,  while  my  chil- 
dren, overcome  with  grief,  were  sleeping  soundly, 
often  did  I rise  to  look  at  them  and  weep  over  them. 
The  next  morning  all  that  was  left  us  of  earthly  goods 
was  carried  to  our  humble  home,  where,  until  within 
a few  months,  we  have  resided.  Miss  Hamilton,  I have 
told  you  all  that  I can  bear  to  tell  you,  and  I hope 
you  may  find  it  of  some  service  to  you  through  life.’ 
“ ‘ Did  you  not  say,’  I inquired,  ‘ that  you  had  a son  ? 
“ ‘ Yes,’  replied  Mrs.  Wilson,  ‘ I did.’ 

“ ‘ Where  is  he  ?’ 
a ‘ That  I do  not  know.’ 

“ £ What  was  his  name  ?’ 

“ ‘Richard.’ 

“ £ Have  you  ever  heard  him  speak  of  Frank  Ham- 
ilton?’ 

££  £ Oh,  yes,’  she  replied,  looking  at  me  intently,  ‘very 
often.  We  were  well  aquainted  with  him.  He  spent 
a vacation  once  with  poor  Dick,  and  I was  so  much 
pleased  with  him  and  his  friendship  for  my  son,  that 


WHAT  HUM  DOES.  339 

I presented  him  with  an  elegant  portrait  of  him.  Do 
you  know  Frank  Hamilton?7 

44  4 Yery  well,  Mrs.  Wilson.7 

44  4 Are  you  a relation  of  his  ?7  she  quickly  inquired. 

44  1 1 am  his  sister,  Mrs.  Wilson,  and  your  son’s  por- 
trait is  suspended  in  our  parlor.7 

44  4 Is  it  possible  ? Where  is  your  brother  ?7 

44  4 He  is  in  Mexico,  and  we  are  looking  for  him  soon. 
Indeed,  he  maybe  ns>w  in  Hew  York.  The  war  is 
over,  and  those  broken  regiments  are  on  their  way 
back  to  their  homes  !7 

44  4 Ah,  yes,  Miss  Hamilton,7  she  replied,  4 but  there 
are  those  who  will  not  come  back — those  who  will 
not  return  with  coming  regiments.  No,  no  ! the  dead 
at  Monterey  will  never  come  back.  My  poor  son 
must  remain  there.  It  may  be,  that  your  brother  has 
fallen  in  with  him,  and  will  know  something  of  his 
end,  and  oh ! what  a pleasure  it  would  bring  to  this 
desolate  heart  to  see  one  who  saw  him  there,  and 
know  from  that  one  how  it  was.7 

44  4 Is  it  possible,  Mrs.  Wilson,7  I inquired,  4 that 
your  son  has  fallen  in  Mexico  ?7 

44  4 1 think  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  it,  although  we 
only  know  it  by  report.7 

44  4 Why  did  he  leave  you  ?7 

44  4 Necessity,  Miss  Hamilton,  compelled  him  to  leave 
home  to  finish  his  studies.  The  wreck  of  our  fortune 
left  him  entirely  dependent  on  his  own  exertions. 


340 


DICK  WILSON. 


My  son  went  to  a village  about  one  hundred  miles 
distant  from  the  city,  to  complete  bis  studies,  prepar- 
atory to  admission  to  the  bar.  In  this  new  situa- 
tion be  sustained  himself  for  a year  with  great  credit, 
entirely  by  his  own  exertion.  But  ah ! the  rumseller 
and  his  friends  were  there,  and  how  could  he  be  safe  ? 
W e knew  the  danger,  and  we  prayed  for  him  daily, 
that  he  might  be  kept  from  temptation.  His  letters 
were  always  cheering  to  us,  and  they  became  more  so 
as  he  neared  the  time  of  his  expected  admission  to  the 
bar.  It  was  our  expectation  to  remove  in  a few  days 
to  the  village  of  B , where,  through  the  persua- 

sion of  his  friends,  he  had  concluded  to  locate  him- 
self. All  our  arrangements  were  made,  and  the  dark- 
ness which  had  rested  upon  our  path  was  disappearing, 
when  we  received  the  following  letter  from  poor  Dick : 

u L My  dear  Mother , Sister , and  Brother : 

Farewell!  Your  hopes  and  mine  are  broken. 
My  prospects  yesterday  were  bright : they  are  now  in 
ruins ! I would  like  to  see  you  once  more — you  all, 
for  whom  I have  lived,  and  for  whom  I was  willing  to 
toil.  I have  been  beset  by  a cruel  and  chilling  con- 
spiracy. I refused  at  the  house  of  Judge  L to 

drink  wine  with  a foolish  girl.  For  your  sakes  more 
than  my  own,  I was  unwilling  to  risk  the  peril.  This 
morning  I expected  to  have  been  admitted.  My  ex 
amination  was  passed.  I was  refused  and  rejected  by 
the  same  Judge ! I love  you  as  I ever  did.  Good 


WHAT  RUM  DOES. 


841 


bye ! Tell  little  Harry  that  lie  must  fly  from  those  who 
have  ruined  his  father  and  his  brother.  Good-bye  F — - 
“ ‘ Since  then  we  know  nothing  of  him,  only  as  we; 
have  heard  by  accident  that  a person  of  his  name  had 
fallen  at  the  battle  of  Monterey.  We  have  nearly 
ceased  to  hope.  My  husband  has  been  taken  away, 
and  I suppose  my  son  also.  We  have  been  robbed  of 
everything,  and  we  are  only  one  of  the  hundreds  of 
thousands  who  are  writhing  under  the  bitter  infliction.’ 
“ There,”  said  Kate  Hamilton,  pointing  to  Dick 
Wilson’s  portrait,  and  with  her  eye  fixed  on  Lucy, 
“ that  was  cruel.  You  ought  not  to  have  tempted 
that  noble  young  man.  Ah  ! you  cannot  measure  the 
consequence  of  that  glass  of  wine  with  which  you 
tempted  him.” 

“Kate,”  said  Lucy,  “I  will  go  at  once  to  that 
widow,  and  make  atonement.” 

“ How  will  you  atone?  Can  you  give  her  back  the 
son,  full  of  vigor  and  hope,  as  when  you  saw  him 
first?  Can  you  open  the  grave  and  bring  him  up, 
manly  and  beautiful  as  he  was  on  the  last  day  you 
saw  him  in  that  peopled  court-house  ? Ho,  no ; yours, 
I fear,  were  but  a part  of  those  influences  which  drove 
him  from  home  and  friends,  and  that  led  him  to  a 
distant  clime,  in  which  his  life  has  been  sacrificed. 
For  this  you  cannot  atone.” 

Lucy  was  silent  for  a moment  and,  then  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


THE  REFORMED  RUMSELLER. 

“ Ah ! who  can  tell  how  hard  it  is  to  climb 

The  steep  where  wine's  red  temple  shines  afar ; 

Ah ! who  can  tell  how  many  a soul  sublime 
Has  felt  the  influence  of  that  malignant  star. 

And  waged  with  virtue  an  eternal  war.” 

“ I have  been  in  the  business,”  said  a reformed  rum- 
seller,  “in  the  best,  but  never  in  the  worst  places,  and 
I know  what  it  is,  and  to  what  it  tends,  notwithstand- 
ing the  eloquent  pleadings  of  its  apologists.  I know 
what  it  is  in  the  capitals  of  the  largest  States  in  the 
Union,  and  in  the  capital  of  the  nation.” 

“ Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it?”  said  a less  than 
half  persuaded  philanthropist,  who  found  it  impossi- 
ble to  satisfy  himself  that  rum  was  not  among  the  ne- 
cessaries of  life. 

“ I think,  sir,”  said  he,  “ that  it  is  degrading  to  him 
who  is  engaged  in  it,  and  that  of  all  other  employ- 
ments, it  is  the  most  injurious  to  the  community  in 
which  it  is  carried  on.” 

“Do  you  think,”  inquired  the  hesitating  philanthro- 
pist, “ that  there  is  any  possibility  of  doing  away  with 
it?” 


THE  REFORMED  RUMSELLER. 


343 


“ Oh  yes,  sir ; of  this  I have  no  doubt.” 

“ In  what  way  do  you  propose  to  do  it  ?” 

“ By  wise  legislation,  sir  ; and  this  is  the  only  way 
in  which  it  can  be  done.” 

“Well,  well,  sir — but  hasn’t  our  legislation  been 
wise  heretofore  ?” 

“ I think  not,  sir.  The  true,  effective  course  would 
be  ‘to  give  it  no  quarter — to  strike  it  from  existence  at 
once  and  forever.” 

“ But  can  this  be  legally  done?” 

“I  think  so,  clearly.  We  certainly  have  a right  to 
suppress  any  traffic,  any  business,  the  only  tendency 
of  which  is  to  injure  the  community  • and  as  the  sell- 
ing of  rum  to  be  drank,  has  this  effect  and  no  other, 
the  right  of  the  people  to  protect  themselves  from  its 
effects  is,  I think,  beyond  reasonable  question.  The 
stale  cry  of  illegality , unconstitutionality , &c.,  has  lost 
its  force,  and  is  no  longer  in  the  way  of  proper  legal 
restrictions.” 

“ Do  you  seriously  think  that  legislators  will  risk 
the  venture  ? — that  they  will  be  willing  to  go  for  so 
stringent  a law  as  you  propose,  and  run  the  hazard  of 
losing  the  votes  of  all  those  who  are  opposed  to  the 
measure  ? If  you  do,  you  have  greater  confidence  in 
their  uprightness  and  courage  than  I have.  The  law 
you  propose  strikes  at  a business  in  which  immense 
capital  is  now  employed,  both  in  the  manufacture  and 
sale  of  alcoholic  drinks.  Hundreds  of  thousands  de- 


344 


DICK  WILSON. 


pend  upon  it  for  support.  The  great  interest  of  agri- 
culture furnishes  the  raw  materials,  and  annually 
draws  from  it  a large  amount  of  its  receipts.  All  this 
you  propose  at  once  to  annihilate — a work,  sir,  which 
I think  you  will  find  easier  to  talk  about  than  practi- 
cally to  execute.” 

u The  time  was  when  these  objections  influenced 
legislation,  and  were  so  controlling  that  the  laws  'en- 
acted were  a nullity.  That  time  has  now  passed. 
Three-fourths  of  the  electors,  in  a large  section  of  the 
Union,  a?e  decidedly  in  fayor  of  the  measure.  They 
are  also  determined  that  those  to  whom  they  give  their 
suffrages  shall,  on  this  question  at  least,  no  longer  mis- 
represent them.  They  know  their  rights,  and  they 
also  know  their  powers.  They  have  deliberately,  and 
yet  decidedly,  concluded  to  assert  the  one,  and  to  ex- 
ercise the  other ; and  mere  demagogues  and  time-serv* 
ers  will  be  driven  into  merited  retirement,  while  their 
places  will  be  supplied  by  men  with  whom  principle 
will  be  paramount  to  policy.  A few  years  since,  in  a 
certain  State,  while  the  school  question  was  before  the 
Legislature,  there  was  quite  an  excitement.  There 
were  men  whose  constituents  had  spelled  their  tickets, 
Lkno  skooV  ! and  everybody  knew  how  they  would  go. 
It  was  said  that  they  would  echo  the  kno  skool  of  their 
constituency  ; and  so  they  did.  But  one  of  the  most 
intelligent  and  prosperous  districts  in  the  State  had 
sent  to  the  Legislature  a man  who  was  utterly  unlike 


THE  REFORMED  RUMSELLER.  345 

themselves.  At  length  the  school  law  was  taken  np, 
and  the  fidelity  of  their  representative  was  of  conrse 
to  be  tested.  At  this  time,  one  of  his  constituents,  a 
very  intelligent  friend  of  the  school  law,  happened  to 
be  on  a visit  to  the  capital,  and  his  curiosity  led  him 
into  the  Legislature.  He  was  just  in  time  to  hear  one 
of  the  most  eloquent  speeches  of  the  session,  and  was 
of  course  delighted  with  it.  But  when  the  vote  was 
taken,  he  was  much  disappointed  to  find  the  represent- 
ative from  his  own  district  vote  LJcno  sJcooV  In  an- 
swer to  the  question,  how  so  intelligent  a district  as 
his  happened  to  be  represented  by  so  stupid  a block- 
head as  had  just  voted,  he  said  that  he  was  a rum-rep- 
resentative, sent  up  there  to  protect  that  interest ; and 
that  he  should  vote  against  popular  instructions,  was, 
after  all,  not  so  surprising.  He  said  he  was  compara- 
tively little  known  to  the  electors — had,  by  agreement 
with  his  rum-supporters,  pledged  himself  to  the  friends 
of  temperance,  and  received  their  votes,  and  was  by 
this  ruse  elected  by  a large  majority.  This  method 
of  deceiving  the  electors  cannot  now  be  successfully 
practised.  The  trick  is  understood,  and  is  guarded 
against.” 

“But  how  can  you  guard  against  this?  Pledges, 
you  say,  are  not  regarded.” 

“ There  are  men  whose  past  lives  and  conduct  fur- 
nish a certain  guarantee  that  they  will  act  as  they  talk. 

It’s  these  that  we  shall  elect.” 

O* 


846 


DICK  WILSON. 


“ Then  you  do  not  believe  in  political  catechisms  ?n 
“I  do  not.  The  best  assurance  of  fidelity,  I repeat, 
is  the  recorded  conduct  of  the  men,  of  whom  we  have 
now  an  ample  supply  in  all  localities ; and  he  that,  at 
this  day,  is  not  publicly  known  as  an  uncompromis- 
ing friend  of  temperance,  should  not  be  intrusted  with 
the  responsible  duties  of  legislation.  Elect  such  men 
• — and  that  we  shall,  is  now  no  longer  doubtful — and 
the  c Maine  law’  follows  as  a matter  of  course.” 

“ Why  did  you  quit  the  rumselling  business  ?” 

“ For  three  reasons,  sir.  The  first  was  on  account 
of  my  family.  A bar-room  is  a bad  place  in  which  to 
educate  a child,  exposed,  as  it  is,  not  only  to  the 
temptations  of  rum,  and  the  filthy  and  loathsome  con- 
versations which  rum  produces,  but  the  worst  of  all 
possible  examples.  In  the  second  place,  on  my  own  ac- 
count. I felt  its  demoralizing  effect  upon  me,  even 
while  engaged  in  it,  and  so  does  every  one  similarly 
situated.  I knew  almost  certainly  that  if  my  life  were 
spared,  I should  be  doomed  to  reap  the  consequences 
of  rumselling — little  respected  by  the  good,  and  un- 
cared for  by  any.  In  the  third  place,  on  account  of 
the  evil  consequences  which  I saw  resulting  to  others. 
I could  never  believe,  hard  as  I tried,  that  money  was 
to  be  gained,  no  matter  by  what  means ; yet  it  appears 
to  me  that  this  is  the  only  maxim  on  which  the  rum- 
seller  can,  at  this  day,  justify  himself.  I once  saw,  in 
my  own  house,  such  a fearful  exhibition  of  the  evils  of 


THE  REFORMED  RUMSELLER.  847 

rumselling,  tliat  I quit  it  at  once  and  forever.  From 
my  own  bar  was  the  rum  given  which  sent  a generous- 
souled  young  man  onward  in  the  path  of  degradation 
and  misery.” 

“ Did  you  do  this  yourself,  sir  ?” 

“No,  sir;  but  I saw  it  immediately  after  it  was 
done,  and  I never  think  of  it  without  shuddering. 
About  nine  o’clock  one  evening,  while  keeping  a pub- 
lic house  in  the  village  of  B , a young  man,  with 

whom  I was  well  acquainted,  entered  my  bar-room 
and  seated  himself  quietly.  Usually  he  was  cheerful ; 
%but  now  he  spoke  to  no  one.  In  a short  time  a color- 
ed man  came  in  with  his  trunk,  and  as  it  was  placed 
on  the  floor,  he  said : 

“ ‘ Ah,  companion  of  my  misfortune,  we  must  go 
again,  nor  can  we  expect  to  keep  together  long.  The 
severities  of  life  will  separate  us.’ 

“ I knew  that  his  hopes  were  in  ruins,  and  vainly 
endeavored  to  assist  him  in  regathering  them. 

“‘That,  Mr.  Jacobs,  is- impossible,’  said  he:  ‘it 
would  be  as  easy  to  gather  the  chaff  which  has  been 
driven  off  by  the  madness  of  the  whirlwind.  I have 
no  hope.’ 

“ I tried  to  ascertain  what  destination  he  had  in 
view ; but  this  was  impossible : he  did  not  seem  to 
know.  He  took  from  his  trunk  a package  of  letters, 
then  closing  it,  seated  himself  on  the  top  of  it.  His 
feelings  were  intense,  as  he  glanced  over  the  letters  in 


348 


DICK  WILSON. 


a hurried  manner ; and  then,  putting  them  together 
again,  he  ejaculated : 

“ L My  mother ! my  mother ! your  cup  of  misery  is 
full!’ 

“ I left  the  room  for  a moment,  and  on  returning, 
to  my  surprise,  saw  him  standing  at  the  bar,  with  a 
decanter  in  his  hand.  I would  have  prevented  it,  but 
at  that  moment  half  a dozen  young  men  entered  the 
bar-room.  These  were  the  persons  who  had  pre- 
pared him  for  the  rumseller — the  persons  who  had 
driven  him  there,  and  for  a moment  they  quailed  be- 
fore him. 

“ 4 Come,  come,  Mr.  Wilson,  said  one  of  them  whose 
name  was  Horace  Stevens,  don’t  take  this  matter  too 
much  a*fc  heart : it  will  all  be  right  in  a short  time.  I 
am  glad  to  see  you  at  the  bar.  I have  more  hope  for 
you  now  than  I ever  had.  We  will  drink  together 
and  be  social.  It’s  the  life  of  the  law  to  be  social. 
Let  us  drink  and  make  merry  !’ 

“ ‘Now,  Mr.  Wilson,  give  us  a sentiment,  and  mat- 
ters will  all  be  right.’ 

“For  an  instant  he  looked  into  the  faces  of  those 
who  were  determined  to  crown  his  ruin,  and  then  look- 
ing into  the  glass,  as  if  to  measure  its  wasting  curses, 
with  a look  of  phrenzy,  he  drank  ! Oh,  bitter  draught ! 
I had  known  his  early  fondness  for  drink,  and  the 
great  struggle  which  he  had  had  to  resist  the  impor- 
tunities of  a pernicious  appetite.  Yet  I had  supposed 


THE  REFORMED  RUMSELLER. 


349 


him  secure  in  his  own  firm  purpose  to  resist.  But 
when  I saw  him  yield,  I knew  that  all  was  lost ! 
Henceforward,  I feared,  he  would  be  a passive  victim 
in  the  tempter’s  snare,  for  such  is  the  usual,  the  almost 
invariable  result.  I felt  that  if  there  had  been  no 
rumseller  to  have  taken  or  given  the  advantage  to 
others,  at  that  moment,  that  young  man  would  have 
been  comparatively  safe.  He  would  have  recovered 
from  his  disappointment ; the  storm  would  have  swept 
by,  and  his  sun  would  have  shone  brightly  again. 
But  as  it  was,  that  sun  rose  no  more.  Bum  perpetu- 
ally eclipsed  it  I” 

“ Did  you  ever  learn  what  became  of  this  young 
man  ?” 

“ Yes  sir ; after  wandering  about  from  place  to  place 
for  some  time,  he  enlisted  in  the  service  for  Mexico, 
and  it  has  been  reported  that  he  was  killed  at  the  bat- 
tle of  Monterey.  This,  I think,  was  not  true,  as  I 
have  been  creditably  informed  that  he  has  since  been 
seen  in  the  United  States.” 

u Did  you  hear  anything  about  his  situation?” 
u Yes  sir,  and  it  was  bad  enough.  He  was  a com- 
plete wreck.” 

“ And  this  example,  Mr.  Jacobs,  led  you  to  quit  the 
the  business  ?” 

“ It  did  sir,  and  every  honorable  man  who  has  any 
respect  for  himself,  for  his  family,  and  the  peace  of 
the  community,  will,  I hope,  do  the  same  thing  soon ; 


850 


DICK  WILSOK. 


and  those  who  have  no  honor  to  move  them,  who  care 
nothing  for  themselves,  their  families,  or  for  the  peace 
of  the  community,  ought  to  be  forced  to  give  it  up  at 
once.  Now,  sir,  this  is  what  must  be  done  by  legisla- 
tion. Heretofore  the  people  have  been  unconsciously 
strengthening  the  hands  of  the  rumseller.  From  them 
has  he  obtained  his  power  to  mock  the  pleas  of  the 
drunkard’s  wife  and  child.  I think  sir,  if  you  will  ex- 
amine this  matter  carefully,  that  you  will  agree  with 
me,  that  strong  legislation  only  can  correct  it.” 

“ Indeed,  Mr.  Jacobs,  I think  you  are  about  right, 
and  if  legislation  is  the  only  thing  that  can  correct  it, 
we  had  better  have  it  at  once.” 

“ Well,  this  is  what  we  intend  to  have ; but  we  shall 
meet  opposition  the  most  strenuous,  and  untiring. 
While  the  friends  of  the  measure  are  prompted  to  ef- 
fort by  a regard  to  the  public  welfare,  its  enemies  are 
stimulated  by  the  considerations  of  self-interest. 
The  former  can  employ  only  the  arguments  of  truth, 
and  can  appeal  only  to  the  intelligence  and  virtue  of 
those  whom  they  hope  to  move.  The  latter  will,  no 
doubt,  as  they  have  heretofore  done,  employ  the  most 
unscrupulous  of  means.  Gold,  their  only  idol,  will 
be  freely  employed  in  j^Le  preliminary  canvass,  at  the 
ballot-box  and  in  the  halls  of  legislation.  But  it  will 
not  now  prevail.  Men,  1 above  all  price,’  will  occupy 
the  seats  too  long  held  by  the  mere  sycophant ; and 
when  the  question  comes  up,  ‘ Shall  the  Maine  law 


THE  REFORMED  RUMSELLER. 


351 


pass  ?’  those  with  strong  nerves  and  stout  hearts  will 
be  ready,  with  a firm  and  ‘cheering  1 aye,’  which  will 
dissipate  all  doubts,  and  gladden  alike  the  heart  of  the 
philanthropist  and  the  Christian.” 


CHAPTEE  XXI. 


FLYING  FKOM  TEMPTATION. 

« Fly  from  the  tempter — 

From  the  brow  of  the  brave 
She  has  torn  the  gay  wreath, 

And  made  him  a slave ; 

E’en  the  pride  of  the  statesman, 

The  fame  of  the  just, 

The  wine  cup  has  humbled, 

And  trod  in  the  dust.” 

The  conclusion  of  peace,  after  the  surrender  of 
the  city  of  Mexico,  was  the  signal  to  the  American 
volunteer,  that  his  work  was  done,  and  that  again 
he  might  turn  his  battle-soiled  frame  towards  home. 
Many  anxious  hearts  were  waiting  impatiently  for  the 
return  of  those  regiments,  whose  ranks  had  been  thin- 
ned by  disease  and  the  Mexican  lance.  Some  were 
waiting  for  the  return  of  the  living,  and  others  to 
hear  the  fate  of  those  who  would  return  no  more. 
It  was  soon  understood  that  the  shattered  remains  of 
the  11th  regiment  of  infantry  were  expected  that  day 
to  land  in  the  city.  This  was  believed  to  be  reliable 
intelligence,  and,  in  consequence,  joyful  was  the  coun- 
tenances of  those  who  expected  to  meet  their  friends, 
while  others  were  agitated  by  mingled  emotions  of 


FLYING  FROM  TEMPTATION. 


353 


hope  and  fear.  At  last,  and  while  crowds  were 
thronging  the  landing,  the  noble  vessel,  bearing  in 
her  bosom  the  broken  ranks  of  those  who  had  perilled 
their  lives  in  a foreign  clime,  drew  near ; and  then 
were  heard  the  questions — WB8re  is  my  husband  ? — 
my  brother  ? — my  father  ? — my  son  ? — and  many  were 
answered,  in  the  grave  ! Mr.  Hamilton  and  Kate  were 
there ; but  not  in  the  crowd.  From  their  position 
they  were  able  to  see  the  soldiers  as  they  left  the  ves- 
sel. 

“ Father,”  said  she,  “there  are  but  a few  more  to 
come  off — I am  sure  Frank  is  not  there,”  and  as  the 
last  of  those  veterans  left  the  vessel,  she  added,  with 
painful  emotion — “No,  Frank  is  not  there.”  Mr. 
Hamilton  replied,  “No,  my  child,  he  is  not.” 

Leaving  the  carriage  in  charge  of  the  servant,  he 
at  once  advanced  to  where  the  regiment  was  forming, 
and  meeting  a young  man,  whom  he  at  once  knew  to 
be  a non-commissioned  officer,  he  eagerly  inquired 
after  his  son.  He  was  informed  that  he  had  been 
transferred  to  another  regiment,  and  that  he  had  al- 
ready, or  would  in  a few  days,  land  at  Pittsburgh, 
with  the  remnant  of  the  first  and  second  Pennsylva- 
nia regiments.  He  immediately  returned  and  said  to 
Kate, — 

“Thank  God,  the  boy  is  safe,  and  will  be  home  in 
a few  days.” 

“Yes,”  said  Kate,  fervently,  “thank  God — but, 
23 


354 


DICK  WILSON. 


father,  poor  Mrs.  Wilson’s  son  comes  not  lack!  He 
has  fallen  a victim — to  that  fell  temptation,  which  by 
legal  sanction  fills  the  land,  and  by  which  so  many 
are  ruined.” 

“ But,  my  dear  ohild^this  temptation  will  not,  I am 
confident,  much  longer  exist.  The  signs  of  the  times 
encourage  me  to  hope  that  the  hour  of  deliverance  is 
near  at  hand  ; and  I have  no  doubt  that  twenty  years 
hence  the  business  of  rumselling  will  be  regarded  with 
as  much  abhorrence  as  we  now  regard  the  foreign 
slave-trade.  Yes,  my  daughter,  the  day  is  coming — * 
and  I thank  God  for  it — when  all,  in  every  path  of 
life,  will  forsake  this  business,  and  frown  upon  it  with 
indignation ; and  when  it  is  left  to  the  protection  of 
the  manufacturer , the  vender , and  the  drinker,  it  cannot 
sustain  itself  for  an  hour.” 

In  a few  days  Frank  Hamilton  returned,  and  at  his 
home  all  was  joy  and  gladness.  The  father,  and  mo- 
ther, and  brother,  and  sister,  with  sweet  cordiality, 
gave  themselves  up  to  the  pleasurable  emotions  which 
filled  their  hearts.  They  were  anxious,  of  course,  to 
hear  from  the  youthful  soldier  the  history  of  the 
scenes  through  which  he  had  passed — from  the  beach 
of  Corpus  Christi  to  the  halls  of  the  Montezumas ; and 
he  appeared  as  anxious  to  gratify  them. 

Frank  was  sitting  opposite  the  fine  portrait  of  Dick 
Wilson,  which  Kate  had  removed  from  the  parlor  into 
the  family  sitting-room.  As  his  eye  fell  upon  it,  an 


FLYING  FROM  TEMPTATION.  355 

involuntary  sigh,  escaped  from  him,  and  the  quick  ear 
of  Kate  heard  it ; and  it  assured  her  that  he  knew 
something  of  the  history  of  him  whom  it  represented. 
Frank  proceeded  to  tell  them  the  most  startling  of 
those  incidents  which  are  inseparable  from  war,  and 
of  which  he  was  a witness.  When  he  had  finished, 
the  evening  was  far  spent,  and  Kate  inquired  if  he 
had  heard  anything  of  Dick  Wilson. 

“ Why,”  replied  Frank,  “ what  has  put  that  into 
your  head  ?” 

She  then  told  him  what  she  knew  and  had  seen  of 
the  family,  and  he  replied : 

“ Kate,  I am  glad  you  know  where  they  are — I 
know  all  about  poor  Dick.” 

“Well,  Frank,  do  tell  us  something  about  his 
death.” 

“ His  death  ?”  replied  Frank.  “ He  is  not  dead !” 

“ His  mother  says  he  is.” 

“ Then,  Kate,  he  has  died  within  a month,  for  I saw 
him  embarking  for  the  States.” 

“ His  mother  heard  that  he  was  dead !” 

“ It*  is  a mistake.  I suppose  he  landed  here  a few 
days  since  with  the  11th  regiment  of  infantry,  and  it 
is  probable  that  he  is  yet  in  the  city,  as  I requested 
him  particularly  to  wait  until  I should  arrive.  I gave 
him  the  street  and  number  of  our  residence,  and  re- 
quested him  to  call — though  I did  not  expect  that  he 
would  do  it.” 


356 


DICK  WILSON. 


“Is  this  possible,  Frank?” 

“It  is  certain ; and  I have  no  doubt  but  in  a few 
days  you  will  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  him  in  this 

bouse.  Col.  C , from  Virginia,  became  very  mucb 

attached  to  bim  ; and  I understand  tbe  Colonel  is  ly- 
ing sick  at  tbe  Irving  House,  and  tbe  probability  is, 
that  Dick  is  still  with  bim,  as  I do  not  tbink  that,  un- 
der any  circumstances,  be  would  leave  bim  in  tbat 
situation.” 

“Then,”  replied  Kate,  “you  have  beard  of  bis  mis- 
fortunes ?” 

“Ob  yes,  my  sister,  I know  all  about  them — we 
bave  been  mucb  together,  and  I know  them  from  bis 
own  lips.  I hope  be  may  yet  be  saved  ; for  with  tbe 
single  exception  excessive  drinking,  be  is  as  noble 
as  be  ever  was.  When  in  Mexico,  surrounded  by  the 
influence  of  a partial  civilization,  be  was  but  slightly 
tempted ; but  how  be  may  withstand  tbe  allurements 
of  a Christian  land — bis  native  country — I cannot  say! 
Kate,  it  is  a humiliating  acknowledgment,  tbat  one 
who  has  formed  a relish  for  intoxicating  drinks  is  less 
tempted  to  indulge  it  among  tbe  rude  and  half  barba- 
rous Mexicans,  than  among  tbe  enlightened  citizens 
of  this  Christian  land.” 

“When  did  you  fall  in  with  bim?”  inquired  Kate. 

“ As  soon  as  I landed  at  Corpus  Christi,  I entered 
tbe  commissary  office,  to  look  about  me,  and  see  if  I 
could  ascertain  tbe  nature  and  character  of  war.  I 


FLYING  FROM  TEMPTATION. 


357 


felt  somewhat  home-sick ; the  novelty  was  worn  off. 
I had  seen  enough  to  convince  me  that  this  was  no 
pleasure-trip,  if  Government  did  pay  the  expenses.  It 
was  the  first  time  that  a foreign  sun  had  ever  thrown 
its  light  on  my  path.  As  I entered  this  office,  I found 
a good  many  persons,  whose  countenances  indicated 
as  much  anxiety  as  mine.  They  were  seated  in  every 
kind  of  order — on  drums,  boxes  of  muskets,  cavalry 
swords,  provisions,  &c.  As  soon  as  I seated  myself, 
my  whole  attention  was  arrested  by  a single  counte- 
nance, and  I became  more  interested  from  the  fact  that 
he  would  always  turn  from  my  gaze.  I was  seated  on 
a pile  of  cavalry  swords,  directly  opposite  to  him,  and 
for  the  purpose  of  better  satisfying  myself,  and  giving 
it  at  the  same  time  the  appearance  of  indifference,  I 
took  up  one  of  those  swords,  and  twisted  and  turned 
it,  until  an  observer  would  have  thought  that  I could, 
tell  all  about  the  instrument,  when  I was  hardly  con- 
scious that  I had  it  in  my  hand.  The  gray  roundabout 
and  pants  make  a great  difference  in  one’s  appearance ; 
and  yet  I was  certain  that  in  that  care-worn  face  there 
was  left  an  expression  still,  of  one  whom  before  that  I 
had  seen  and  known. 

“ A lieutenant  soon  entered,  and  this  young  man 
rose  to  answer  his  call.  I watched  him  closely,  as  his 
pen  glided  over  the  paper  in  preparing  the  order,  and 
then  heard  the  lieutenant  say,  1 Dick,  you  would  make 
a fine  lawyer to  which  he  merely  replied,  1 Do  you 


S58 


DICK  WILSON. 


think  so  V After  this,  he  turned  his  face  to  the  win- 
dow, and  so  remained  for  a few  moments,  and  when 
he  again  turned  to  the  desk,  I saw  the  evidence  of 
tears,  which  he  vainly  attempted  to  conceal.  A very 
little  thing,  Kate,  will  waken  up  in  the  heart  the  most 
tender  recollections,  and  I knew  that  something  had 
touched  a deep  chord  in  that  young  man’s  heart,  by 
which,  perhaps,  the  cheerless  memories  of  disappoint- 
ments were  revived  afresh  ; but  until  that  moment,  it 
did  not  occur  to  me  that  it  might  be  Dick  Wilson.  I 
immediately  left  the  office — for  I found  that  it  would 
be  impossible  for  me  to  satisfy  myself  without  address- 
ing him.  As  I was  leaving,  and  had  got  some  distance 
from  the  office,  I turned  and  looked  back,  and  as  I did 
so  I saw  him  standing  at  the  door,  with  his  arms  fold- 
ed across  his  breast,  and  I concluded  at  once  that  he 
•had  come  there  to  look  after  me.  There  was  something 
very  imposing  in  his  appearance,  and  what  I could 
not  determine,  while  sitting  face  to  face  with  him,  was 
now  clear  enough  to  my  mind,  and  I was  sure  that 
that  was  Dick  Wilson.  In  the  early  part  of  the  even- 
ing, I was  dispatched  to  the  commissary  office,  with 
an  order  for  blankets.  This  was  the  very  opportu- 
nity for  which  I was  seeking,  and  I went  to  the  office 
at  once,  and  produced  my  order.  He  immediately 
wrote  another  order,  and  handed  it  to  me,  saying, 

“ 4 This,  Mr.  Hamilton,  will  procure  them  for  you.’ 

“ 1 was  startled  by  that  voice,  and  the  familiarity 


FLYING  FROM  TEMPTATION. 


359 


with,  which  my  name  was  called,  and  I said  at  once, 
‘Is  this  my  old  friend  Dick  Wilson.’ 

“ ‘Yes,  Frank,’  he  replied,  ‘this  is  all  that  misfor- 
tune and  the  rumseller  has  left.  I have  had  a hard 
time  since  we  parted.’ 

“‘But,  Dick,  what  brought  you  here  ?’ 

“ ‘ The  same  that  will  drive  many  another  poor 
fellow  here,  and  which  will  make  him  anxious  to  give 
away  his  life,  has  brought  me  here — I mean  the  RUM- 
SELLER — the  licensed  pest  of  civilization  !’ 

“ He  asked  me  if  I could  spend  the  evening  with 
him;  to  which  I readily  assented.  After  making 
the  necessary  arrangements  for  the  comfort  of  those 
in  my  charge,  I returned  to  the  office,  and  at  his  re- 
quest, we  directed  our  steps  towards  a retired  place  on 
the  bank  of  the  river.  Yes,  Kate,  there  I was,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Rio  Grande,  arm  in  arm  with  as  noble  a 
heart  as  ever  beat,  and  as  we  had  often  been  in  earlier 
days.  How  differently  situated ! Then  his  hopes 
were  promising  and  his  heart  light.  Now  he  was  op- 
pressed with  sadness. 

“ ‘ Here,  Frank,’  said  he,  ‘ is  a spot  to  which  I have 
been  in  the  habit  of  resorting  almost  nightly ; and 
there  is  something  in  its  very  loneliness  which  endears 
it  to  me.’ 

“We  seated  ourselves,  and  after  a pause  in  which  I 
saw  that  he  was  making  an  effort  to  control  his  feel- 
ings, he  said, — 


360 


DICK  WILSON. 


“ 1 Frank,  you  did  not  expect  to  meet  me  here,  in 
this  situation.” 

“ 1 Dick,’  said  I,  1 what  has  led  you  to  this  step?7 

u 1 Ah!  Frank,  I cannot  lead  you  through  the  ter- 
rific process  by  which  I have  been  moulded  into  what 
you  see  before  you.  You  see  how  much  I am  changed ; 
and  while  I cannot  now  help  it,  I am  far  from  being 
insensible  to  the  fearful  fact.7 

“ He  related  to  me  the  severe  misfortunes  of  his 

family,  as  well  as  his  difficulties  with  Judge  L , 

and  his  departure  from  the  village  of  B * and  then 

continued,- — • 

“ ‘ But,  oh!  Frank,  I did  not  intend  to  fall.  I was 
disappointed — broken  down — cast  to  the  very  earth. 
I knew  the  strength  of  those  hopes  which  were  cling- 
ing to  me ; but  in  that  hour,  when,  to  me,  my  path 
seemed  to  be  hopelessly  dark,  and  the  sun  of  my  life 
seemed  to  have  gone  dow;n  to  rise  no  more,  I availed 
myself  of  the  rumseller’s  consolation  ! Ah ! yes,  it 
was  then,  in  an  hour  of  mental  unconsciousness,  that 
I fell — I am  afraid,  hopelessly  and  forever  ! And,  0 
God  ! in  that  delirious  moment,  what  did  I entail  upon 
myself  and  weeping,  heart-broken  innocence,  in  the 
persons  of  those  who  were  spared  in  the  wreck  of  my 
home  ? Ah ! yes,  I am  sure  that  if  this  temptation 
had  not  been  in  my  path,  that  I could  have  survived 
the  shock  of  that  disappointment ; but  it  was  in  my 
path,  and  I fell,  as  thousands  have  fallen.  From  the 


FLYING  FROM  TEMPTATION. 


861 


moment  I tasted  the  poisoned  chalice,  I felt  the  be- 
ginning of  certain  ruin.  Sometimes  I had  hope,  but 
it  was  dim  and  indistinct.  I knew  not  where  to  turn 
or  whither  to  fly,  and  bade  farewell  to  those  whom 
every  moment  since  I have  loved  better  than  my  life. 
Since  that  time  I have  been  a wanderer,  without  any 
object ; nor  could  I picture  to  you  the  scenes  and  the 
sufferings  through  which  I have  passed.  Often  as  I 
have  seen  the  slave  dragging  out  his  weary  life,  have 
I wished  that  I had  been  born  a slave ! I have  wish- 
ed that  the  power  of  thought  could  be  silenced  within 
me,  and  that  I might  forget  myself  in  the  grave. 
After  wandering  about  from  place  to  place,  and  find- 
ing my  health  rapidly  declining,  it  occurred  to  me 
that  if  I should  leave  the  United  States,  I might,  after 
all,  recover.  It  was  not  without  an  effort  that  I expa- 
triated myself.  It  was  not  because  I did  not  love  my 
native  land,  but  because  I felt  that  the  rumseller  had 
the  power  to  mould  my  destiny  as  he  pleased,  and  lead 
me  through  the  broad  streets  of  my  native  land  to  the 
base  of  his  sacrificial  altar ! Oh  ! Frank,  talk  about 
slavery!  The  subjugation  of  the  body  is  absolute 
tyranny  ; but  it  cannot  compare  with  the  absolute  and 
cruel  subjugation  to  which  the  rumseller  reduces  his 
victims.  It  stings  sharper,  deeper,  than  the  driver’s 
whip  ; for  it  strikes  both  the  body  and  the  mind,  and 
with  maddened  fury  drives  them  together  into  the 
cheerless  vortex  of  desolation ! I sometimes  hope  to 
P 


862 


DICK  WILSON. 


withstand,  in  this  half-civilized  region,  the  few  temp- 
tations which  beset  me ; but  at  home  they  were  so 
constant  and  so  strong,  I could  not  resist  them.  This 
is  all  that  brought  me  here ; but  if  I must  die  by  his 
hand,  I would  rather  be  at  home.  I came  here  only 
to  avoid  a power  sanctioned  by  American  law , and 
which  is  the  most  despotic  of  any  on  earth.  Five 
weeks  ago  I was  standing  on  the  wharf  at  New 
Orleans,  looking  with  anxiety  at  a vessel  which  was 
preparing  to  leave  for  this  place.  I was  without 
money  and  without  friends,  surrounded  by  strangers, 
and  sixteen  hundred  miles  from  the  place  of  my  na- 
tivity. I knew  not  what  to  do  ; for  in  the  streets  of 
that  city  I had  seen  hundreds  whose  appearance 
showed  them  to  be  forlorn  and  friendless  as  myself, 
and  most  of  whom,  by  their  countenances,  indicated 
that  they  were  familiar  with  crime.  At  that  moment 
I was  trying  to  solve  a fearful  problem.  I was  decid- 
ing between  two  evils,  which  to  me  appeared  of 
equal  magnitude:  whether  to  live  and  permit  the 
rumseller  to  exercise  his  authority  over  me,  or  to  com- 
mit suicide.’ 

44  4 Why,  Dick,’  said  I,  4 surely  you  did  not  think  of 
that !’ 

44  4 Yes  I did,  Frank.  You  may  think  it  strange, 
but  I tell  you,  the  rumseller  can  make  one  think  and 
do  almost  anything.  I found  myself,  before  I was 
aware  of  it,  at  the  door  of  the  custom  house,  and  still 


FLYING  FROM  TEMPTATION. 


363 


undetermined  as  to  which,  would  be  the  best  for  me. 
I was  standing  here,  when  a gentleman  came  to  my 
side,  who,  for  some  moments,  eyed  me  intently.  To 
me,  his  gaze  was  exceedingly  painful.  I did  not  know 
but  he  might  be  a civil  officer,  who  was  in  search  of 
suspected  persons,  and.  perhaps  was  about  to  fix  upon 
me,  as  one  having  the  appearance  of  a criminal.  I 
knew  that  I had  the  rumseller’s  mark  upon  me  ; and 
among  strangers,  I was  aware  that  this  mark  was  fatal. 
They  generally  think — but  they  misjudge  when  they 
do  so — that  the  victim  is  as  accomplished  in  wicked- 
ness as  the  destroyer.  Even  in  my  forlorn  situation, 
I could  not  endure  such  a suspicion.  I had  slept  in 
the  open  air,  on  the  banks  of  the  Ohio  and  the  Miss- 
issippi. I had  gone  for  days  without  food,  and  this  I 
had  endured ; but  to  be  suspected  of  crime,  I could 
not  endure  it;  and  immediately  inquired, — 

“‘Do  you  see  anything  about  me,  sir,  to  call  for 
such  close  observation  ?’ 

“ 1 If  lam  not  mistaken,’  he  replied,  4 your  name  is 
Wilson.’ 

44  4 That  is  my  name,  sir,’  I ans veered,  4 but  where 
have  you  seen  me  ?’ 

44  ‘I  saw  you,’  he  replied,  4 on  the  evening  of  the  day 
on  which  your  hopes  were  crushed.  I never  saw  you 
before,  nor  since,  until  this  moment;  but  I should 
have  known  you  in  any  place,  or  under  any  circum- 
stances. I see,  Mr.  Wilson,  what  your  misfortunes 


304 


DICK  WILSON. 


are,  and  anything  that  I can  do  to  alleviate  them,  will 
be  done  cheerfully.  What  do  you  want  to  do  ?’ 

“‘I  ‘want,’  I replied,  4 first  of  all,  to  escape  the 
temptations  of  the  rumseller ; for,  until  I can  do  this, 
it  is  in  vain  for  me  to  attempt  to  do  anything.’ 

u £ I am  sorry,’  he  replied,  4 to  see  you  under  such 
influences.’ 

44  4 I told  him  that  I believed  that  it  was  utterly  im- 
possible to  escape  them,  and  that  I thought  it  would 
be  my  best  plan  to  go  to  Mexico — that  possibly  I 
might  be  safer  there.’ 

44  4 Then,’  said  he,  4 as  your  constitution  is  evidently 
too  feeble  to  go  into  the  army,  I think  I can  procure 
you  a situation  in  the  commissary  office,  at  Corpus 
Christi.’  After  some  conversation  with  a gentleman 
named  Nicholson,  the  business  was  immediately  ar- 
ranged, and  a passage  secured  for  me  on  board  of  the 
vessel  to  which  I had  referred.  Since  that  time,  I have 
been  here ; and  while  under  other  circumstances  it 
would  afford  me  pleasure  to  see  acquaintances,  as  it  is, 
I have  tried  to  avoid  it. 

44  4 1 knew  you,  Frank,  as  soon  as  you  entered  the 
office,  and  saw,  in  a moment,  that  there  was  still  some- 
thing about  me  that  you  recognized ; but  I did  not 
think  that  you  would  be  able  to  identify  me,  until 
that  young  lieutenant  called  me  Dick.  Ah ! my  friend, 
you  cannot  tell  what  burning  recollections  your  ap- 
pearance aroused  within  me,  and  yet,  if  you  had  not 


FLYING-  FBOM  TEMPTATION. 


365 


recognized  me,  I think  you  would  never  have  been 
conscious  that,  in  a land  of  strangers,  you  bad  been 
in  the  same  room  with  your  fallen  friend  P 
“ After  we  bad  conversed  for  some  time  about  many 
things,  I asked  him  if  be  bad  given  up  all  hope  of  re- 
covering himself,  to  which  he  replied : 

11 1 Oh  no  ! Frank,  I hope  not ; I think  if  I can  en- 
dure this  climate  for  three  years,  that  I may  then  re- 
turn to  the  United  States  with  safety,  and  if  it  were 
not  for  the  rumseller , I should  return  to-morrow.’ 

“ 1 found  Dick  kind,  gentlemanly,  and  warm-heart- 
ed as  ever.  It  was  necessary  for  me,  a few  days  after 
this  interview,  to  proceed  to  Fort  Brown,  and  we 
parted  again,  after  I had  obtained  a promise  from  him 
to  write  to  me  often. 

“ About  a month  after  this  time,  I received  a letter 
from  him,  dated  1 Charity  Hospital,  New  Orleans ,’  in 
which  he  informed  me  of  his  situation.  He  said  that, 
finding  himself  unable  to  endure  the  climate,  and  be- 
ing assured  that  he  must  die,  he  was  anxious,  if  pos- 
sible, to  reach  his  mother,  and  die  in  her  arms ; but 
that  on  landing,  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  be  taken 
to  the  hospital,  where  he  expected  to  die.  He  con- 
cluded by  saying,  4 Frank,  if  you  live  to  return  home, 
I have  a dying  request — search  out  my  poor  mother, 
and  tell  her  all  you  know  of  me.’ 

“ I think  it  was  about  six  weeks  after  the  date  of 
this  letter,  that  I was  sent  to  Corpus  Christi,  on  busi- 


866 


DICK  WILSON. 


ness ; and  just  as  I was  about  to  leave,  a gentleman 
said  to  me,  ‘ You  can  tell  Rough  and  Ready  that  there 
is  a regiment  of  volunteers  from  Louisiana,  under  com- 
mand of  General  Gaines,  expected  to  land  here  to- 
day.’ 

“ My  return  was  not  urgent,  and  I determined  to 
wait  and  see  them  ; and  sure  enough,  in  a few  hours 
the  vessels  came  in  sight,  and  soon  were  near  enough 
to  distinguish  the  gray  uniforms  with  which  the  decks 
seemed  to  be  crowded.  Here,  to  my  surprise,  I met 
Dick  Wilson  again.  He  was  feeble,  and  hardly  able 
to  bear  the  weight  of  his  musket.  His  spirits  were 
low,  and  conversational  powers,  which  were  of  the 
first  order,  seemed  to  have  left  him  almost  entirely.  I 
did  everything  in  my  power,  during  that  day  and  the 
next,  to  rouse  him,  but  I found  it  impossible  to  do  so. 
We  parted  again,  hoping  soon  to  be  brought  together 
by  the  concentration  of  all  the  troops  in  Mexico  into 
one  army.  This,  however,  did  not  occur ; and  I soon 
learned  that  some  illegality  in  the  formation  of  the 
regiment,  under  Gen.  Gaines,  had  caused  it  to  be  dis- 
banded, and  that  many  of  the  men  who  composed  it 
had  returned  to  New  Orleans. 

“Here,  again,  I lost  all  traces  of  Dick,  and  although 
I inquired  often  of  those  who  were  continually  com- 
ing into  the  service,  I could  find  no  one  who  knew 
anything  of  him.  I could  not  forget  him  ; and  while 
I sympathized  with  him,  and  wept  over  his  condition, 


FLYING  FROM  TEMPTATION. 


867 


I felt  that  his  fall  was  inevitable.  I knew  the  rum- 
seller’s  power  over  his  victim,  when  once  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  making  a beginning ; but,  Kate,  until  I met 
Dick  Wilson,  I never  fully  realized  his  complete  des- 
potism ! Here  I had  an  opportunity  to  see  it.  I knew 
him  before  the  rumseller  had  touched  his  constitution, 
his  character,  or  his  hopes.  We  had  read  Horace  to- 
gether— together  we  had  admired  the  beauties  of  Lon- 
ginus, and  wept  over  the  death  of  Socrates.  In  all 
the  pleasures  and  duties  of  a student’s  life,  we  had 
been  together,  and  but  a few  years — short  and  change- 
ful— had  passed  away,  since  on  the  same  platform  we 
had  received  the  parting  benediction  of  the  venerable 
president.  Then  he  was  everything  that  was  noble  ; 
now  he  appeared  to  be  hanging  indifferently  from  the 
frowning  precipice  which  overlooks  the  chasm  of  de- 
spair ! 

“ When  I met  him  first,  at  Corpus  Christi,  I had 
hope  ; but  when  I met  him  in  the  Louisiana  regiment, 
I saw  the  unmistakable  impressions  of  the  rumseller’s 
work,  fostering  a disease  which  was  preying  deeper  than 
any  other  upon  his  constitution.  I had  given  him  up, 
and  expected  to  see  his  face  no  more.” 


CHAPTEE  XXII. 


THE  LOST  FOUND. 

“ Fly  from  the  tempter, 

Who  has  led  thee  astray 
From  the  high  aspirations 
Of  life’s  early  day : 

Ere  the  hopes  of  thy  mother 
Have  faded  in  gloom, 

And  her  gray  hairs,  dishonored, 

Are  laid  in  the  tomb.” 

Frank  had  related  the  circumstances  under  which, 
for  the  third  time,  he  had  met  with  Dick  Wilson  in 
Mexico,  as  well  as  the  hopes  which  he  still  entertained 
for  his  safety. 

“ Do  you  really  think,”  said  the  good  Mrs.  Hamil- 
ton, who  was  impatient  with  interest,  “that  he  has 
landed  here  ?” 

“Oh,  lam  sure  of  it,”  said  Frank.  “I  saw  him 
embark  for  New  York.  I’ll  show  you  in  the  morn- 
ing— mind  if  I don’t,  mother.” 

“ God  be  praised !”  said  the  tender-hearted  old  lady. 
“We  may  be  able  to  restore  him  to  his  heart-broken 
mother  yet,  and  this  will  be  like  giving  life  to  the 
dead.  My  son,  if  you  find  him  in  the  morning,  you 
must  bring  him  home  with  you.  Have  his  trunk 
brought  directly  here.” 


THE  LOST  FOUND. 


S69 


“ His  trunk !”  replied  Frank.  “You  mean  kis  knap- 
sack.” 

“Well,  Frank,  bring  all  lie  lias,  be  it  muck  or  little, 
and  we  will  induce  kim  to  remain  witk  us  as  long  as 
possible,  and  we  will  try  every  way  to  strengthen  kis 
good  resolution.” 

Tke  kour  was  late,  and  Frank  found  it  impossible  to 
answer  satisfactorily  kalf  tke  inquiries  of  Kate,  and  in 
a pleasant  way  ke  said  to  ker : 

“ I would  advise  you  to  exercise  your  usual  caution, 
and  not  to  fall  in  love  witk  Dick  before  you  see  kim. 
You  may  be  wonderfully  disappointed.  And  point- 
ing to  tke  portrait,  ke  said:  “You  must  not  base 
your  judgment  on  that,  for  ke  is  greatly  changed.” 

In  tke  morning,  Mrs.  Hamilton,  Kate  and  Frank 
were  all  in  a hurry  ; and  even  Mr.  Hamilton,  who  was 
remarkable  for  regularity,  betrayed  some  slight  wan- 
dering from  his  usual  course.  When  tke  time  for 
family  prayer  arrived,  Mr.  Hamilton  offered  up  a fer- 
vent petition  in  Dick’s  behalf,  and  prayed  that  tke 
same  Grod  who  had  restored  tke  long  lost  Joseph  to 
kis  father,  would  also  restore  this  young  man  to  kis 
widowed  mother. 

“ Now,”  said  Mrs.  Hamilton  to  Frank,  as  they  were 
seated  at  tke  breakfast  table,  “do  you  think  you  can 
find  kim  this  morning  ?” 

“ I think  I can,  mother,  if  ke  is  in  tke  city.  He 

may  have  gone  to  Virginia  witk  Col.  C ; but  I do 

P*  24 


370 


DICK  WILSON. 


not  think  that  he  has  jet  been  able  to  leave.  I am 
glad,  mother,  that  you  are  so  much  interested  in  him, 
for  it  too  often  falls  to  the  lot  of  those  who  are  un- 
fortunate, that  they  meet  only  indifference  and  inat- 
tention.” 

“ I am  interested,  my  son,  to  save,  if  it  be  possible, 
Eichard  Wilson.  The  mother,  the  brother,  and  the 
sister,  who  are  now  weeping  for  him,  did  not  willing- 
ly surrender  him  to  the  rumseller.  If  we  can  now  re- 
store him  safe  to  his  dear  ones,  it  will  be  doing  a work 
for  Grod  and  humanity.  That  is  what  we  live  for,  and 
no  nobler  end  can  we  hope  to  attain.” 

After  breakfast,  Frank  was  soon  in  the  street,  mak-  . 
ing  his  way  towards  the  Irving  House,  where,  he  had 
heard,  Col.  C had  taken  rooms,  and  where  he  ex- 

pected to  find  Dick,  if  he  was  still  in  the  city. 

“ Who  knows,”  thought  he  to  himself,  uwhat  may 
be  the  result  of  all  this  ? I thank  my  parents  that 
they  loved  me  and  watched  for  me  more  than  for  the 
vanities  of  life.  What  I am,  I owe  chiefly  to  their  ju- 
dicious care.  In  three  years  I have  met  Dick  Wilson 
in  almost  all  imaginable  situations  of  suffering,  and  far 
from  home.  We  have  sat  down  together  to  talk  about 
the  past,  and  then  he  spoke  with  a mournful  elo- 
quence of  its  melancholy  recollections.  I have  heard 
him  say,  while  sitting  under  the  shade  of  the  same 
ancient  elms  where  Cortez  is  said  to  have  offered  his 
human  sacrifices,  that  the  rumseller  had  so  transform- 


THE  LOST  FOUND. 


371 


ed  him,  that  he  felt  more  at  home  on  the  soil  which  had 
drunk  the  blood  of  thousands  of  semi-barbarians,  at 
the  hand  of  the  Spanish  robber,  than  he  did  in  his  na- 
tive land.” 

With  such  thoughts  as  these  revolving  in  his  mind, 
Frank  Hamilton  entered  the  Irving  House,  and  going 

at  once  to  the  register,  found  the  names  of  Col.  C 

and  Eichard  Wilson  registered  together.  This  was  a 
matter  of  rejoicing  to  him,  and  he  hastened  at  once 
to  their  room.  As  he  entered,  Dick  rose  to  greet 

him,  and  Col.  C could  not  help  admiring  the  pure 

friendship  which  these  young  men  manifested  for  each 
other.  Frank  had  formed  a slight  acquaintance  with 

Col.  C in  Mexico,  and  consequently  did  not  need 

an  introduction.  When  he  entered  the  room,  the  colonel 
and  Dick  were  engaged  in  conversation,  which  had 
been  laid  aside  merely  for  the  time,  and  the  greeting 
over,  Col.  C continued : 

“ Mr.  Hamilton,  I have  just  been  making  a propo- 
sition to  Mr.  Wilson,  to  accompany  me  to  Virginia, 
and  there  enter  upon  the  practice  of  law.  I have 
offered  to  him,  if  he  will  consent  to  do  so,  every  facil- 
ity, both  in  money  and  influence,  which  may  be  neces- 
sary for  his  success  ; and  allow  me  to  say,  that  if  the 
beauty  of  our  lovely  country  is  marred  by  the  exist- 
ence of  slavery,  it  is  not  like  yours,  blackened  by  the 
foul  curse  of  alcohol,  which  does  more  to  blight  and 


372 


DICK  WILSON. 


blacken,  to  waste  and  wither,  to  degrade  and  stultify, 
than  slavery  in  its  most  revolting  form.” 

“ Frank,”  said  Dick,  “ I have  almost  made  up  my 
mind  to  go  and  try  my  fortune  in  the  ‘ Old  Dominion.5 
What  do  you  think  of  it  ?” 

“ Do  you  think,  Pick,  that  you  will  be  better  off 
there  ?” 

“ Yes,  I should  not  be  tempted  there  as  I am  here, 
and  if  I can  be  sure  of  that,  I would  like  to  go.” 
After  a moment’s  pause,  he  continued,  with  much  feel- 
ing : “ I may  as  well  go  there  as  anywhere.  There 
are  for  me  some  precious  spots  upon  the  earth.  There 
are  graves  I should  like  to  visit ; and  there  are  living 
ones,  the  sight  of  whom,  if  it  were  only  once  more, 
would  gladden  my  heart ; but  where  they  are  I do 
not  know.” 

“ My  dear  friend,  death  has  not  disturbed  the  little 
flock.  They  are  all  living  and  well.” 

“ Have  you  seen  them  ? Do  you  know  where  they 
are?  Who  has  seen  them?  Tell  me,  for  heaven’s 
sake,”  said  he,  while  intense  agitation  was  visible  in 
his  countenance. 

u My  sister  has  seen  them  within  a few  weeks,  and 
they  were  well.” 

“ Is  it  possible?  Well,  thank  God,  I may  then  see 
them  again.  This  is  more  than  I expected.  Frank, 
you  have  always  been  to  me  the  harbinger  of  good.” 
For  a moment  he  was  silent,  but  this  unexpected 


THE  LOST  FOUND.  373 

intelligence  overcame  him  so  suddenly,  that  he  could 
not  restrain  his  tears.  At  length  he  continued : 

<l  Col.  C , I had  almost  concluded  to  go  with 

you  to  Virginia,  but  I must  give  it  up.  I must  go  at 
once  to  those  dear  ones  who  are  looking  for  me. 
They  know  in  all  probability,  that  I went  to  Mexico, 
and  as  the  living  are  all  returning,  they  will  be  look- 
ing for  me  too.  Oh,  yes ! I can  almost  see  the  wild 
anticipations  of  their  hearts,  and  feel  the  clasp  of  their 
arms  about  my  neck.  I am  happy  in  the  thought, 
that  yet  the  warm  breath  of  my  mother  may  dissipate 
the  fevered  phantoms  of  my  brain.  Ah ! but  when 
they  see  me  they  will  weep,  and  those  are  fearful  tears 
which  a mother  pours  out  when  compelled  to  look  upon 
the  victim  of  a rumseller  in  the  person  of  her  son.” 

“ Richard,  your  mother  is  not  looking  for  you.” 

11  Ah  ! and  has  she  cast  me  off?  If  she  knew  the 
sufferings  through  which  I have  passed,  she  would 
never  do  it.” 

u Oh,  no,  she  has  heard,  and  believes,  that  you  were 
killed  at  the  battle  of  Monterey.” 

“ Then,  I must  undeceive  her  at  once.  Col.  C , 

you  have  been  my  friend.  You  have  watched  over 
me  as  a brother  since  the  day  I entered  your  com- 
mand, in  the  city  of  Wheeling,  until  this  day,  and  if 
it  were  not  for  the  intelligence  which  Mr.  Hamilton 
has  brought  me,  I should  go  with  you ; but  as  it  is,  I 
cannot.” 


374 


DICK  WILSOIST. 


“Mr.  Wilson,”  said  Col.  C , “ I am  glad  to  see 

jon  manifest  such,  feeling.  It  increases  my  friendship 
for  you  and  my  interest  in  you.  It  is  best  for  you, 
however,  to  look  at  this  matter  free  from  all  excite- 
ment ; for  you  are  now  placed  in  a position  in  which 
you  ought  to  act  with  remarkable  caution.  When 
you  go  home  and  have  seen  those  who  are  still  dear 
to  you,  what  will  you  do  ? They  and  you  are  poor, 
and  when  the  burst  of  joy  and  sorrow,  which  will  at- 
tend your  meeting,  is  over,  will  it  not  be  succeeded 
by  the  cheerless  vision  of  poverty  rising  before  you, 
to  chill  you  into  despair  again,  and  drive  you  to  the 
rumseller’s  den  ? If  you  will  go  with  me,  I will  pro- 
vide you  a home  for  your  family,  and  the  means  to 
bring  them  to  Virginia ; and  there,  surrounded  by  new 
associations,  and  men  who  would  not  strive  with  each 
other  to  excel  in  making  the  child  a drunkard,  you 
will  be  comparatively  safe.” 

“ You  are  too  kind,  my  friend,”  said  he,  with  evi- 
dent emotion. 

“Never  mind  that,  Wilson,”  replied  Col.  C , 

u for  kindness,  if  it  is  genuine,  always  brings  its  re- 
ward. I will  do  it  cheerfully,  as  for  a brother.” 

“ Then,  Col.  C , I will  go.  I would  go  to  the 

ends  of  the  earth  to  escape  the  ruin  which  I con- 
stantly fear.” 

Frank  admired  the  noble  Virginian,  who,  although 
a soldier,  had  still  a heart  filled  with  rich  and  gener 


•THE  LOST  FOUND. 


375 


ous  sympathy,  prompting  him  to  offers  of  kindness, 
which  would  have  been  as  readily  fulfilled  as  they 
were  cheerfully  made.-  He,  too,  felt  that  he  had  a 
claim,  and  that  it  would  be  necessary  for  him  to  insti- 
tute it  at  once,  and  accordingly,  in  the  presence  of 

Col.  C , he  informed  Dick  that  he  had  expected 

him  to  spend  a few  days  with  him  before  leaving  the 
city,  giving  him  to  understand  that  it  was  the  particu- 
lar request  of  the  family  that  he  should  do  so.  It  was 

known  to  Frank  that  Col.  C * was  about  to  repair 

to  Washington  city  in  a few  days,  and  it  was  soon 
agreed  that  Dick  could  spend  a few  weeks  in  New 
York  previous  to  leaving  for  Virginia.  These  arrange- 
ments being  made,  Dick  stepped  into  another  room  to 
make  preparations  for  accompanying  Frank  to  his 
home,  and  while  he  was  absent  the  colonel  said : 

“ Mr.  Hamilton,  I feel  very  much  interested  in  that 
young  man,  and  would  be  willing  to  do  anything  with- 
in the  range  of  possibility  to  save  him.  If  he  can  be 
reformed,  there  is  no  honorable  situation  in  life  which 
he  would  not  grace,  and  no  position  which  he  would 
not  adorn.” 

At  this  moment  Dick  entered  the  room,  genteelly 
dressed,  and  Frank  involuntarily  exclaimed: 

“ Why,  I declare,  you  are  very  much  improved 
in  appearance,  and  bring  ‘ old  times’  vividly  to  my 
mind.” 

As  soon  as  they  were  fairly  in  the  street,  Dick  said : 


376 


DICK  WILSON. 


“Is  it  possible,  Frank,  that  your  sister  has  seen  my 
family  ? And  what  must  she  think  of  me  ?” 

“ Yes,  my  dear  friend,  she  has  mingled  her  tears 
with  those  who  love  you,  and  understands  the  cause 
of  your  being  brought  to  this  sad  state.  You  need 
have  no  fears,  Dick,  in  entering  my  father’s  house,  for 
they  will  receive  you  kindly,  and  do  everything  in 
their  power  to  make  you  happy.” 

The  conversation  continued,  and  before  Frank  was 
aware  of  it,  his  home  stood  before  him.  They  enter- 
ed, and  Frank,  after  seating  his  friend  in  the  parlor, 
left  him,  and  went  to  the  room  where  his  mother  and 
Kate  were.  As  soon  as  Mrs.  Hamilton  saw  her  son, 
and  perceived  that  there  was  no  unusual  expression 
of  joy  in  his  countenance,  she  said : 

“ Ah  ! my  son,  it  is  as  I expected  : either  death  or 
the  rumseller  has  anticipated  you.  You  didn’t  find 
him.  "Well,  I was  fearful  that  something  had  hap- 
pened to  him.” 

“Well,  mother,”  said  Frank,  “you  are  not  often 
mistaken,  I confess ; but  you  are  this  time.  I have 
fortunately  found  him  ; and  he  is  now  waiting  you  in 
the  parlor.” 

“Is  it  possible?”  said  Mrs.  Hamilton  and  her  daugh- 
ter in  the  same  breath. 

“ Come  and  see,”  said  Frank. 

They  entered  the  parlor,  and  Dick  rose  to  meet 
them.  His  appearance  was  much  better  than  they  had 


THE  LOST  FOUND.  377 

anticipated,  for  they  expected  to  have  seen  more  dis- 
tinctly the  ravages  of  dissipation. 

“We  are  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Wilson,”  said  Mrs. 
Hamilton,  “ and  happy  to  make  you  welcome  to  our 
home.  There,”  said  she,  pointing  to  his  portrait,  which 
Kate  on  that  morning  had  replaced  in  the  parlor,  “for 
several  years  you  have  ornamented  our  parlor,  and 
we  hope  now  that  you  will  feel  yourself  surrounded 
by  the  freedom  of  home.” 

“ Thank  you,  Mrs.  Hamilton,”  said  Dick,  and  then 
added,  as  he  looked  at  his  portrait,  and  remembered 
the  scenes  through  which  he  had  passed,  “ This  is  a 
reminiscence  of  my  better  days.” 

Soon  Mr.  Hamilton  came  in,  and,  without  an  intro- 
duction, gave  him  a shake  of  the  hand  which  told  the 
cordiality  with  which  he  meet  him  more  eloquently 
than  his  lips  could  have  done,  and  then  said  : 

“It  seems  to  me,  Mr.  Wilson,  that  I have  seen  your 
face  before.” 

“Yes,  sir,  you  have,”  said  he;  “when  the  troops 
of  the  11th  regiment  were  landing  a few  days  since, 
you  inquired  of  me  concerning  your  son.” 

“Upon  my  word,”  replied  Mr.  Hamilton,  “it  is  so. 
You  ought  to  have  made  yourself  known,  and  come 
directly  to  my  house.” 

“I  had  not  permission  to  leave,  until  the  regi- 
ment was  disbanded,  and,  besides,  the  indisposition 
of  Col.  C , who  has  been  a very  warm  friend 


378 


DICK  WILSON". 


of  mine,  made  it  necessary  that  I should  remain  with 
him.” 

“Yes,  yes,  Mr.  Wilson,  always  be  grateful,  and 
never  forsake  a friend  in  the  time  of  his  need.  I 
wo  aid  have  been  very  glad  to  have  had  the  Colonel 
here.  Do  you  suppose  he  would  be  able  to  come  and 
spend  the  evening  with  us  ?” 

“I  think  he  would  be  able  and  happy  to  do  so,”  re- 
plied Dick. 

“Then,”  said  the  old  gentleman,  with  his  unpretend- 
ing suavity  of  manner,  “ we  must  have  him  here.” 

Orders  were  immediately  issued  to  have  the  carri- 
age in  readiness.  It  required  no  lengthy  argument  to 
persuade  the  Colonel  to  accompany  them,  and  he  was 
soon  in  the  carriage  with  them.  He  was  manifestly 
in  feeble  health ; but  yet,  according  to  the  true  Vir- 
ginian style,  he  did  his  part  to  make  everything  pleas- 
ant, and  when  he  entered  Mr.  Hamilton’s  house,  he 
seemed  at  once  to  be  at  home.  The  evening  was 
spent  in  hearing  and  rehearsing  the  life-like  pictures 
of  the  scenes  in  which  these  young  men  had  mingled, 
and  the  conflicts  through  which  they  had  passed, 
with  a continuous  application  from  Mr.  Hamilton,  of 
the  goodness  of  God,  in  saving  their  lives,  and  bring- 
ing them  back  to  their  native  land. 

After  tea,  Kate  favored  them  with  some  excellent 
music,  and  to  those  young  men  it  seemed  to  be  doubly 
sweet,  since  for  several  years  they  had  heard  no  music 


THE  LOST  FOUND. 


379 


but  tlie  shrill  music  of  the  march,  or  the  startling 
clangor  of  the  battle-field,  as  it  rose  toward  heaven, 
the  harbinger  of  blood.  At  the  request  of  Dick,  she 
played  with  remarkable  effect,  “The  Dead  at  Mon- 
terey,” and  immediately  followed  it  with  the  cheering 
strains — “ Home,  home  again  from  a foreign  shore.” 
When  the  last  echoes  of  those  strains  were  dying 
away,  the  glistening  tear  was  seen  in  every  eye— they 
could  not  be  hidden,  for  they  were  the  truth-telling 
oracles  of  their  hearts,  and  told  how  the  heart  felt  at 
the  kindling  recollections  of  home. 

When  the  evening  had  been  spent  and  enjoyed  to 
a late  hour,  the  colonel  rose  to  depart,  and  thanking 
them  for  their  kindness,  said  pleasantly, — • 

“ Miss  Hamilton,  I am  going  to  leave  Mr.  Wilson 
in  your  care  for  a few  days,  and  hold  you  responsible 
for  his  safe  delivery  in  Virginia.” 

“Very  well,”  said  Kate,  blushing,  “I  will  try  to 
have  him  delivered  to  you  safely.” 

Dick  had  spent  a number  of  days  with  the  family, 
and  our  hero  could  not  doubt  the  genuineness  of  the 
spirit  which  he  observed  to  be  the  governing  principle 
of  everything  about  him. 

One  day  he  ventured  to  inquire  of  Kate,  in  refer- 
ence to  his  family,  and  the  circumstances  in  which  she 
had  found  them.  She  replied  to  his  inquiries  in  a 
frank  and  feeling  manner,  and  added, — 

“ Mr.  Wilson,  they  will  be  rejoiced  to  see  you.  I 


380 


DICK  WILSOK. 


would  like  to  share  in  the  joys  of  that  meeting,  and  I 
have  been  thinking  of  making  a proposition  to  Frank, 
that  we  would  accompany  you  home.” 

Dick  was  nearly  overcome — “Home!  home!”  he 
ejaculated,  “what  a spell — what  a subduing  power 
there  is  in  that  word ! But  as  yet,  I must  not  see  that 
spot — my  exile  is  not  completed.  Oh ! for  a light  to 
illuminate  the  darkness,  and  strength  to  overcome  the 
perils  which  yet  lie  between  myself  and  my  mother’s 
fond  embrace.  My  way  has  been  dark  and  gloomy, 
almost  as  the  valley  and  shadow  of  death.  I am  going 

to  Virginia.  Col.  C has  made  me  an  offer  which 

I could  not  possibly  refuse.” 

This,  to  Kate,  was  evidently  unexpected,  and,  al- 
though unintentionally,  she  betrayed  much  surprise 
at  his  decision. 

“ Miss  Hamilton,”  said  he,  “ I am  satisfied  that  it  is 
best  for  me  go.” 

“Perhaps  you  are  right.” 

“I  think  I am,”  he  replied,  “inasmuch  as  it  will 
afford  me  an  immediate  opportunity,  not  only  to  find 
a situation  for  myself  but  also  for  my  little  family, 
and  this  ought  to  be  with  me  the  great  consideration.” 
After  spending  two  weeks  very  pleasantly  in  their 
society,  and  feeling  renewed  in  health  and  spirits,  he 
intimated  his  intention  on  the  next  day  to  leave  for 
Virginia.  The  family  had  become  attached  to  him, 
and  this  announcement  seemed  to  come  prematurely. 


THE  LOST  FOUND. 


381 


They  were  loth  to  part  with  him,  and  if  it  had  not 
been  for  the  pressing  nature  of  his  engagement,  he 
would  not  have  gone  ; but  he  was  sure  that  the  offer 
made  to  him  was  prompted  by  kindness,  and  he  did 
not  feel  at  liberty  to  neglect  it.  During  his  stay,  the 
whole  family  had  done  everything  in  their  power  to 
strengthen  him  against  the  insidious  snares  of  the  rum- 
seller.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hamilton  had  spoken  to  him  as 
they  would  have  done  to  a son,  whom  they  tenderly 
loved,  and  were  anxious  to  save  from  the  most  dread 
ful  calamity ; and  Frank  and  Kate  had  done  every- 
thing which  they  could  have  done  for  a brother,  and 
they  felt  themselves  to  be  richly  repaid  in  the  lively 
manifestations  of  gratitude,  which  were  too  plain  to  be 
mistaken,  in  every  look  and  action  of  Dick. 

The  time  of  his  departure  came,  and  with  tears  they 
bade  each  other  good-bye,  and  in  doing  so,  Mr.  Ham- 
ilton put  a purse  into  his  hand,  saying — “ God  bless 
and  keep  you  my  dear  young  friend ; may  you  be  able 
to  withstand  all  temptation,  however  disguised.  Oh  ! 
beware  of  the  wine  cup and  Dick  was  again  a wan- 
derer, in  search  of  a retreat  from  the  luring  tempter. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


THE  EFFECT. — THE  CAUSE. — THE  REMEDY. 

u Ah ! Misery,  how  I feel  thy  power ! 

Long  have  I labored  to  elude  thy  sway, 

But  ’tis  enough,  for  I resist  no  more.” 

The  destiny  of  the  individual  is  often  irrevocably 
fixed,  who  bas  formed  a relisb  for  tbe  intoxicating 
cnp.  With  bim  it  is  usually  true, 

“That  one  false  step  forever  blasts  his  fame.” 

Mr.  Hamilton  greatly  feared  tbat  tbis  would  prove 
true  in  regard  to  Wilson,  and  tbat,  goaded  on,  as  be 
constantly  was,  by  tbe  promptings  of  an  insatiable 
appetite,  be  wonld  be  very  likely  to  fall  into  tbe  snares 
so  thickly  set  in  bis  way. 

“ I regret,”  said  be  to  bis  family,  as  Dick  Wilson 
left,  “ tbat  there  are  so  many  dram  shops  scattered  all 
over  tbe  land.  But  for  these,  tbis  yonng  man,  with 
bis  firm  resolutions  to  reform,  wonld  have  little  diffi- 
culty in  effecting  it.  But  as  it  is,  be  is  constantly 
tempted  to  drink,  go  where  be  may ; and  however 
firm  bis  purpose,  it  will  be  marvellous  indeed  if  be 
long  adheres  to  it.” 


THE  EFFECT. — THE  CAUSE. — THE  REMEDY.  383 

“Father,”  said  Kate,  “I  do  not  think  so  now.  I 
had  many  pleasant  conversations  with  him  during 
his  stay  with  us,  and  I am  sure  he  will  be  able  to  with- 
stand the  temptations  of  those  men  who  had  nearly 
accomplished  his  ruin.” 

“I  wish,  my  child,”  replied  Mr.  Hamilton,  “that  I 
was  sure  of  it ; but  I am  not.” 

“Don’t  you  think,  father,”  said  Kate,  “that  he 
wishes  to  escape  ?” 

“ Of  that,  my  daughter,  there  can  be  no  doubt. 
All,  no  matter  how  degraded,  who  have  become  ad- 
dicted to  intemperance,  regret  it,  and  in  their  sober 
moments  often  weep  bitterly  over  the  desperation  of 
their  condition.  They  would  abstain,  but  cannot. 
Their  resolutions  are  strong  enough,  but  they  have 
not  the  power  to  carry  them  out.  This  I consider  to 
be  the  case  with  Wilson.  He  wishes,  he  hopes,  he 
may  even  be  determined  to  reform. ; but  he  is  not  mas- 
ter of  himself.  His  perverted  taste,  his  burning  thirst 
for  the  destroying  beverage  when  excited  by  its  pres- 
ence, will  overcome  the  calm  teachings  of  reason  and 
judgment,  and  he  is,  I fear,  destined  to  be  their  slave. 
Yes,  I consider  his  situation  one  of  imminent  peril, 
and  the  chances  are  a thousand  to  one  against  him. 
If  he  escape,  his  life  must  be  a constant  struggle. 
His  watchfires  must  never  go  out,  nor,  for  one  mo- 
ment, must  the  sentinel  leave  his  post.” 

For  many  days  after  this  young  man  left  Mr.  Ham- 


384 


DICK  WILSON. 


ilton’s  house,  he  was  the  subject  of  their  daily  con- 
versation, and  his  ability  to  withstand  temptation  was 
thoroughly  canvassed.  Kate  invariably  maintained 
that  she  believed  him  to  be  beyond  the  rumseller’s 
power,  and  often  did  she  speculate  upon  the  nature 
of  the  happiness  which  would  visit  Mrs.  Wilson’s  lone- 
ly and  cheerless  dwelling,  when  tidings,  as  from  the 
grave,  should  be  borne  to  her,  that  the  lost  was  found 
* — the-  erring  reclaimed — the  son  saved  ! Gradually 
but  reluctantly,  the  cherished  hopes  of  that  family 
grew  fainter  and  fainter.  A month  had  passed  away, 
and  not  a line  from  Wilson  had  yet  been  received, 
and  all  but  Kate  seemed  forced  to  the  conclusion  that 
again  he  had  fallen. 

One  morning  Frank  entered  the  room  where  Kate 
and  her  mother  were  sitting,  and  laid  on  the  table  an 
open  letter,  saying  as  he  did  so,  with  as  much  calm- 
ness as  possible — 

“ That  is  from  Dick  Wilson.” 

“I  knew  he  would  stand  firm,”  said  Kate,  while  a 
flash  of  joy  passed  over  her  features. 

“ Read  it,”  said  Frank. 

Kate  took  up  the  letter,  and  in  an  instant  the  truth 
flashed  upon  her  mind,  and  laying  it  upon  the  table, 
she  exclaimed — “Is  it  possible?”  and  left  the  room  in 
tears.  At  the  request  of  Mrs.  Hamilton,  Frank  read 
to  her  the  letter,  which  was  as  follows : 


THE  EFFECT. — THE  CAUSE. — THE  REMEDY.  885 

Dear  Frank : The  rumseller  has  triumphed  again, 
and  I have  fallen  hopelessly  beneath  his  stroke — fal- 
len, to  rise  no  more.  They  have  made  this  poor  life 
of  mine  an  eventful  one.  You  and  your  dear  family 
have  been  very  kind  to  me.  You  have  tried  to  save 
me,  but  ah ! in  vain.  A few  years  have  made  a great 
change  in  my  character  and  destiny,  such  as  I never 
anticipated.  You  knew  me  when  my  prospects  in 
life  were  enviable,  and  you  met  me  in  the  land  of 
strangers,  and  there  saw  my  misery,  and  you  have 
known  how  I struggled  against  the.  ruin  which  beset 
me.  I am  passing  away  rapidly.  I feel  it  bitterly. 
I had  a constitution  which  for  a time  defied  excesses, 
but  at  last  it  has  given  way,  and  now  lies  in  ruin. 
I had  hoped  to  look  once  more  into  my  mother’s  face, 
and  see  her  smile.  I thought  that  once  again  I might 
be  permitted  to  pronounce  the  names  of  brother  and 
sister  in  the  presence  of  those  who  gather  with  their 
griefs  to  my  mother’s  side.  That  hope  is  dissipated 
forever.  Oh ! how  I have  thought  of  them,  and  long- 
ed for  them.  I have  sat  down  by  the  camp-fire,  on 
the  plains  of  Mexico,  to  think  of  them  when  every 
eye,  save  that  of  the  sentinel,  was  closed,  and  enjoyed 
sweet  pleasure  in  the  anticipation  of  a return. 

“ Ah  ! that  hope  will  never  be  realized ; for  its  last 
green  leaf  has  withered  and  died,  in  the  bleak  wastes  of 
my  heart.  Oh ! it  is  sad  to  be  a wanderer  from  home  and 
its  joys  ; but  it  is  sadder  yet  to  feel  the  burning  thirst 
Q 25 


886 


DICK  WILSON. 


wliich  consumes  me,  and  to  be  powerless  to  resist  its 
importunities.  Oh ! Frank,  how  often  do  I wish  that 
I could  commence  anew  the  journey  of  life — that  I 
could  only  be  free  from  the  snare  which  is  leading 
me  so  rapidly  to  ruin.  I now  see  the  emphatic  force 
of  those  truths  which  I derided  at  the  time — that  for 
the  youth,  or  the  young  man,  there  is  no  safety,  unless 
he  inscribes  upon  his  banner  the  motto,  1 Touch  not, 
taste  not,  handle  not.’  If  I had  done  this,  before  the 
cursed  taste  was  formed,  I should  have  been  spared 
the  bitter  pangs  which  I have  been  doomed  to  suffer. 
But,  unfortunately  for  me,  I thought  that  the  exhilar- 
ating effect  of  wine,  so  far  from  being  injurious,  was 
positively  beneficial.  This  was  the  sentiment  in  my 
father’s  family,  and  of  the  circle  in  which  I moved  in 
earlier  life  ; and  to  this  I owe  the  bitter  scourge  which 
now  lashes  me  with  such  relentless  fury.  I never 
drank  to  intoxication  until  that  fatal  night,  after  my 

rejection  at  the  village  of  B . Yet  I must  say,  that 

after  taking  the  resolution,  upon  the  death  of  my  fa- 
ther, to  stop  drinking,  I had  constantly  felt  an  almost 
irrepressible  desire  to  continue  a practice,  the  influ 
ence  of  which  I knew  not,  until  I sought  to  discon- 
tinue it.  I had  supposed  that  I could  stop  at  any  time, 
and  without  any  difficulty ; but  no  one  can  tell  what  a 
struggle  I have  had,  save  those  who  have  been  simi- 
larly situated.  I have  resolved,  and  re-resolved  that  I 
would  never  again  touch  the  fatal  glass ; but  when 


THE  EFFECT. — THE  CAUSE. — THE  KEMEDY.  387 

my  eye  rested  upon  it,  and  it  was  everywhere  in  my 
way,  I was  fired  with  such  a perfect  phrenzy  of  de- 
sire, that  I could  not  resist.  Frank,  you  will,  I doubt 
not,  think  of  me  often ; but  I hope  you  will  not  be  too 
severe  upon  my  memory.  Eemember  the  causes  of 
my  ruin.  Though  I greatly  erred  in  closing  my  ears 
to  the  kindly  warnings  which  were  given  me,  and  in 
suffering  myself  to  be  borne  thoughtlessly  along  by 
the  social  influences  around  me ; yet  I must  plead  in 
extenuation  of  my  guilt,  the  great  force  of  those  in- 
fluences, and  my  ignorance  at.  the  time,  of  the  effect 
which  they  were  producing.  My  fondness  for  society, 
and  the  place  where  I sought  its  enjoyment,  laid  the 
foundation  of  my  ruin.  That  was  done,  though  I did 
not  know  it,  before  I was  eighteen  years  of  age.  The 
duinking  saloon,  oh,  that  such  a place  had  never 
existed — £ that  was  the  rock  on  which  I split;1  and  the 
thought  of  its  effect  upon  me  is  so  paralyzing,  that  I 
can  only  add,  that  this  is  probably  the  last  that  you 
will  ever  hear  of  your  early  and  grateful  friend, 

“Richard  Wilson.” 

When  Mr.  Hamilton  came  in,  the  letter  was  hand- 
ed to  him,  and  he  perused  it  carefully.  It  was  evident 
that  he  was  not  disappointed  in  the  result ; indeed,  he 
would  have  thought  it  miraculous  if  this  young  man, 
under  the  circumstances,  had  triumphed,  but  with 
such  a conviction  pressing  upon  his  mind,  he  did  not 


388 


DICK  WILSON. 


say,  “ It  is  no  use  to  try — it  won’t  do  any  good.”  But 
his  was  the  language  of  the  freeman,  the  Christian, 
and  the  philanthropist : 

“ I am  not  disappointed,”  he  said  ; “ this  is  what  I 
feared,  and  just  what  will  be  found  true  in  ninety-nine 
out  of  every  hundred  similar  cases.  While  we  should 
do  what  we  can  to  restore  those  who  are  already  fall- 
en, we  should,  at  the  same  time,  remember,  that  in 
the  case  of  the  intemperate,  ‘ an  ounce  of  prevention  is 
worth  many  pounds  of  cure  and  if  we  expect  success 
to  crown  our  efforts,  we  must  seek  the  causes , and  find 
and  correct  them , and  the  effects  will  of  course  cease. 
I have  long  been  thoroughly  impressed  with  the  con- 
viction, that  if  we  should  strike  out  of  existence  all  the 
tippling  houses  of  the  land,  that  we  should  then  have 
reached  the  fountain  ; and  its  streams,  numerous  and 
polluting  as  they  now  are,  would  be  dried  up  thor- 
oughly and  perpetually.  To  effect  this,  stringent  en- 
actments are  necessary,  and  I look  forward  with  con- 
fidence to  the  time  when  the  horrors  of  intemperance 
will  be  matters  of  history  rather  than  the  daily  obser- 
vation of  all  our  citizens.” 


CHAPTER  XXI Y. 


THE  MISSION  OF  LOVE, 

“ For  the  poor  make  no  new  friends, 

But  oh,  they  love  the  better  far, 

The  few  our  Father  sends.” 

The  letter  which,  imparted  to  the  Hamilton  family 
the  intelligence  of  Dick  Wilson’s  fall,  brought  also  a 
smarting  pang  to  each  of  their  hearts : and  gave  to 
them  a new  illustration  of  the  entire  impotence  of  the 
best  resolution,  in  contending  with  the  temptations 
with  which  the  rumseller  besets  the  path  of  his  victims. 

They  had  hoped — fondly  hoped,  that  those  erring 
feet  had  been  turned  effectually  from  the  path  to 
ruin,  and  that  he,  in  whose  welfare  they  were  so  deep- 
ly interested,  might  yet  be  borne  a victor  to  the 
threshold  of  his  mother’s  door,  and  enter  it  again, 
amidst  those  mingling  emotions  of  love  and  sadness 
which  always  hail  the  wanderer’s  return. 

They  were  disappointed,  however,  and  Dick  Wilson 
had  fallen  again  into  the  hands  of  an  unrelenting  ene- 
my, whose  cry  is,  give,  give,  GIVE ! 

One  evening,  soon  after  the  arrival  of  this  letter, 
Mr.  Hamilton’s  family  were  assembled  around  their 


390 


DICK  WILSON. 


quiet  fireside,  to  talk  oyer  matters  and  arrange  plans, 
in  which  the  future  comfort  of  Mrs.  Wilson  and  her 
family  could  be  secured. 

“ Something  must  be  done,”  said  Mr.  H.,  with  his 
accustomed  cheerfulness  of  manner,  “for  the  happi- 
ness of  these  suffering,  yet,  in  this  matter,  sinless 
ones  ; who,  to  our  knowledge,  must  now  cease  to 
hope,  and  who  can  expect  nothing  but  sorrow  in  the 
future  history  of  their  son  and  brother.  God  send  the 
day  speedily  when  an  enlightened  and  correct  public 
sentiment,  shall  frown  this  horrid  business  of  selling 
liquid  poison,  into  the  pit  of  darkness,  whence  it  had 
its  origin !” 

Mr.  Hamilton  had  just  introduced  the  subject  to  his 

listening  and  delighted  family,  when  Mr.  W , a 

princely  rum  importer  of  the  city,  was  announced  by 
the  servant. 

“Show  him  into  this  room,”  said  Mr.  H.,  whose  or- 
ders were  immediately  obeyed. 

After  a few  commonplace  remarks,  this  gentleman, 
with  unusual  affability,  said  to  Mr.  H.,  “ I came  in, 
sir,  to  borrow  of  you  five  thousand  dollars.  I have 
made  a very  large  purchase  this  afternoon,  at  a forced 
sale,  of  an  entire  cargo  of  the  best  foreign  liquors. 
In  fact,  I suppose  I got  them  at  less  than  half  their 
value.  It’s  a fine  speculation.” 

“ I cannot  accommodate  you,  sir,”  said  Mr.  Hamil- 
ton, frankly. 


THE  MISSION  OF  LOVE. 


391 


“ Well,”  said  Mr.  W , a little  confused  by  the 

unexpected  reply,  “ I thought  that  you  would  be  as 
likely  to  have  that  amount  of  money  on  hand  as  any 
other  person,  and  I knew  that  if  such  were  the  fact  I 
could  get  it.” 

“ You  are  mistaken,  sir,' — I have  the  money,  and 
if  you  proposed  to  make  any  honorable  investment, 
you  should  have  it  without  a word  ; but  into  such  a 
channel  as  you  propose  to  put  it,  not  a dollar  of  my 
money  shall  ever  go,  with  my  knowledge  and  con- 
sent. I am  sorry,  sir,  that  you  do  not  know  me  bet- 
ter.” 

“Ah!  very  well,  sir — no  harm  done,  of  course,” 

replied  Mr.  W * ; “ but  I can’t,  for  the  life  of  me, 

see  why  you  should  be  so  particular  on  this  subject. 
This,  sir,  is  purely  a matter  of  business,  and  I should 
like  to  know  what  law  could  hold  you  accountable  ?” 

“ The  law  of  God,  sir — a law  which  neither  you 
nor  myself  can  violate  with  impunity.  Ah ! sir,  the 
record  of  many  a demijohn,  cask,  and  barrel  which 
you  have  sent  out,  and  in  which  communities  have 
been  deluged  with  misery,  will  meet  you  in  judgment. 
You  say  that  you  cannot  see  why  I should  be  so  par- 
ticular on  this  subject.  I think  I can  place  you  in  a 
position  where  you  can  see,  unless  you  are  willingly 
blind. 

“ Can  you,  sir,  look  into  the  face  of  the  dying  drunk- 
ard, whose  hopes  for  earth  and  heaven  your  business 


392 


DICK  WILSON. 


has  enveloped  in  the  very  pall  of  despair  ? — can  you 
look  upon  a reality  of  this  kind  without  feeling  that 
you  stand  in  intimate  and  active  connection  with  a 
business  which  is  cursing  humanity  and  defying  Om- 
nipotence ? Oh ! sir,  I weep  for  that  man  who,  in  this 
day,  can  continue  this  business ; and  who  has  so  well- 
nigh  given  away  as  worthless  the  last  redeeming  ele- 
ment in  human  nature.  Yes,  I do  pity  the  man  who, 
in  reference  to  this  fathomless  and  shoreless  wickedness, 
is  pulseless  and  motionless  amidst  the  palpitations  of 
an  age  trembling  with  the  footsteps  of  advancing 
Justice.” 

Before  this  honest  broadside  of  truth,  the  princely 
rumseller  cowered ; and  soon  Mr.  Hamilton,  relieved 
of  his  presence,  was  alone  with  his  family. 

“ Father,”  said  Kate,  u I’ll  go  bail  that  man  will 
never  trouble  you  again,  either  for  money  or  influ- 
ence, to  put  into  the  liquor  traffic.” 

u Yes,  that’s  a fact  father,”  said  Frank,  u he  under- 
stood you.  It  won’t  take  him  an  hour  or  two,  after  he 
arrives  at  home,  to  learn  your  position,  and  he  can’t  help 
but  respect  you  for  your  candor.  Many  men  who  make 
the  same  professions  that  you  do,  would  have  acted  dif- 
ferently ; and  would  have  strained  every  point  to  quiet 
their  consciences  and  accommodate  him ; and  then  he, 
with  a rumseller’s  generosity,  would  have  said  to  him- 
self, and  chuckled  over  it  too,  what  a heartless  hypo- 
crite that  man  is !” 


THE  MISSION  OF  LOVE. 


393 


“ My  children,”  said  Mr.  Hamilton,  “ there  is  nothing 
which  these  persons  dread  so  much,  and  no  agency 
which  so  effectually  paralyzes  them,  as  an  honest  ex- 
pression of  opinion,  maintained  by  corresponding  ac- 
tion. Their  work  is  the  work  of  darkness — -they  shun 
the  light,  and  even  now  they  tremble  in  anticipation 
of  the  people’s  voice  of  retribution.” 

“Come,  come,”  said  Mrs.  Hamilton,  “this  won’t  do, 
this  hour  has  been  set  apart  for  a sacred  purpose,  and 
we  must  not  permit  the  shadow  of  the  rumseller  to 
darken  it,  and  make  us  forget  the  labor  of  love  which 
we  owe  to  that  suffering  family.  It  is  now  settled 
that  their  hope  is  lost,  and  not  a moment  must  be 
wasted  in  sending  them  relief.” 

“I  will  go,”  said  Kate,  “and  bring  Eliza  Wilson 
home  with  me ; and  if  she  comes,  I will  promise  to 
love  and  treat  her  as  a sister.” 

“ That  won’t  do,  my  daughter,”  said  Mrs.  Hamilton, 
“ the  family  must  not  be  broken  up.  How  do  you 
think  they  could  endure  a parting  of  that  kind  ? You 
can’t  have  my  consent  to  that  arrangement,  Kate.” 

“ Let  me  settle  the  difficulty,”  said  Mr.  Hamilton. 
“ I am  for  having  the  whole  family  come,  and  remain 
with  us ; we  have  plenty  of  room,  and  a good  will  in 
the  bargain.” 

“ That  removes  the  difficulty,”  said  Frank,  “ and 
chimes  with  my  notions  exactly.  I did  everything 

that  I could  for  poor  Dick,  while  I had  an  opportu- 
Q* 


394 


DICK  WILSON. 


nity,  and  so  did  yon  Kate : — Now  let  ns  show  to  his 
afflicted  family,  that  we  really  loved  him.  W e have 
room  enongh,  and  heart  enough,  to  make  them  as 
comfortable  as  they  can  be  made  in  this  world.” 

This  was  the  very  thing  for  which,  from  the  day 
Dick  Wilson  left  their  door,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hamilton 
had  been  preparing ; and  it  was  a pleasure  to  them  to 
witness  the  cheerful  spirit  with  which  their  children 
concurred  in  the  arrangement. 

It  was  determined  that,  in  a few  days,  Frank  and 

Kate  should  set  out  for  the  village  of  K , where 

Kate  had  seen  them  a few  months  before,  and  extend 
to  them,  and  press  them  to  accept,  the  invitation  to  ac- 
company  them  to  their  city  home. 

They  were  intent  upon  their  errand  of  mercy,  and 

at  the  appointed  time  they  were  on  their  way  to  K , 

at  the  outskirts  of  which  Mrs.  Wilson  resided.  A few 
hours’  ride  brought  them  to  the  place  ; and  as  they  were 
leaving  the  cars,  Kate  pointed  out  to  Frank  the  house 
in  which  she  lived,  and  the  antiquated  grave-yard  from 
which  she  had  previously  made  her  observations. 

They  entered  the  hotel  near  the  depot,  when  Kate 
proposed  to  her  brother  that  they  should  go  up  and 
take  a seat  on  the  balcony ; where,  free  from  interrup- 
tion, they  might  have  a few  moments  to  themselves, 
in  thinking  over  the  best  way  to  introduce  their  deli- 
cate mission. 

They  were  scarcely  seated  before  their  attention 


THE  MISSION  OF  LOVE. 


395 


was  arrested  by  a small  funeral  procession  which  was 
just  entering  the  grave-yard.  There  were  but  few  in 
that  train,  and  they  principally  women  ; and  it  was  at 
once  plain,  from  the  handful  of  followers  and  the 
uncovered  coffin,  that  the  tenant  was  one  taken  from 
the  humblest  walks  of  life ; and  for  whom  there  were 
but  few  to  mourn. 

“ Let  us  wait  here, 77  said  Kate,  “ until  that  solemn 
rite  is  over.’7 

In  the  whole  ceremony  there  was  an  unbecoming 
haste,  and  soon  the  last  shovel-full  of  earth  was  press** 
ed  upon  the  bosom  of  the  sleeper ; and  all  but  two — a 
little  boy  and  a young  woman — were  on  their  way 
from  the  spot. 

The  two  who  still  lingered  by  the  side  of  that 
grave,  seemed  to  have  no  disposition  to  leave  it — they 
seemed  to  have  laid  in  that  cold,  damp  bed,  a casket, 
in  which  the  light  and  the  life  of  all  their  love  and 
hope  had  been  treasured. 

“ Ah !”  said  Kate  to  her  brother,  whose  eyes  were 
filled  with  tears,  “ whoever  these  sorrowing  ones  may 
be,  their  hearts  must  be  desolate  indeed.” 

At  length  they  rose  from  the  spot  where  they  had 
seated  themselves,  and  placing  a stone  at  the  head, 
and  another  at  the  foot  of  the  grave,  they  turned 
slowly  away. 

“Kate,”  said  Frank,  whose  eyes  were  following 
those  stricken  ones  who,  hand  in  hand,  were  just  pass- 


396 


DICK  WILSON. 


ing  out  of  the  enclosure,  “I  thought  that  I had  seen 
the  rites  of  sepulture  in  all  their  forms,  and  felt  the 
varied  emotions  which  necessarily  spring  from  them 
• — but  I have  been  mistaken.  I have  seen  the  city 
funeral,  with  imposing  rites,  of  almost  every  class.  I 
have  stood  by,  when  a hundred  of  my  countrymen 
in  a foreign  land,  mangled  and  torn  by  the  havoc  of 
war,  were  thrown  into  a common  grave ; but  they 
never  moved  me  as  does  that  spectacle.” 

u See,”  said  Kate,  whose  eye  had  been  keeping  pace 
Gwith  the  mourners,  “ they  are  entering  Mrs.  Wilson’s 
house, — my  fears  are  realized — Eliza  and  little  Harry 
are  the  mourners,  and  they  are  alone  in  their  grief. 
Let  us  go  to  them  at  once,  and  share  with  them  the 
sorrows  of  this  bitter  hour.  How  prophetic  were  her 
words,  when  she  said  to  me,  1 the  sun  of  the  coming 
summer  will  shine  upon  the  grave  of  the  broken- 
hearted Mary  Wilson!’” 

A few  moments  brought  them  to  the  door,  about 
which  the  echoes  of  that  sweet  old  song  were  linger- 
ing when  first  she  entered  it.  It  was  a November 
day  ; and  everything  was  chill  and  bleak  without — a 
fitting  emblem  of  the  hearts  of  those  within  that  hum- 
ble enclosure. 

As  they  entered,  they  found  the  first  room  tenant- 
less, and  Kate  at  once  led  the  way  into  a little  apart- 
ment adjoining,  and  then  the  truth  was  read  at  a 
glance.  Mrs.  Wilson  was  dead,  and  her  two  orphan 


THE  MISSION  OF  LOVE. 


397 


children,  unconscious  of  the  presence  of  any  one,  were 
there  alone  in  their  grief.  u My  poor  little  brother,” 
said  Eliza,  “ what  is  to  become  of  us  now  ? Oh ! how 
our  dear  mother  loved  us,  and  how  she  struggled  to 
keep  us  with  her ! I am  afraid  we  must  part  now. 
Oh  how  desolate  has  the  rumseller’s  agency  left  us  !” 

“ Fear  not,  sweet  girl,”  was  whispered  in  her  ear 
by  the  sympathetic  Kate  ; and  the  mourner  turned  as 
if  an  angel’s  voice  had  been  commissioned  to  bring 
consolation  to  their  hearts. 

There  are  scenes,  the  spirit  and  the  melancholy  beau- 
ty of  which,  will  forever  elude  both  the  tongue  and  the 
pen,  and  leave  that  description  which  would  interfere 
with  their  sanctity  lame  in  the  extreme — and  we  pass 
this  hour,  in  which  broken  hearts  were  made  whole 
again,  by  the  angelic  love  of  this  noble  girl. 

The  little  effects  of  the  orphans  were  soon  arranged, 
and  having  bowed  together  again  by  the  grave  of  their 
mother,  they  were  ready  to  depart  with  their  benefac- 
tors; and  as  soon  as  they  entered  Mr.  Hamilton’s  house, 
they  felt  themselves  to  be  at  home — a real  home  of 
tenderness  and  love. 

They  had  heard  the  story  of  their  poor  brother,  and 
knew  that  he  was  still  a wanderer,  tossed  to  and  fro 
by  this  curse  of  mankind.  Through  the  tender  sym- 
pathy of  the  family  by  whom  they  had  been  adopted, 
they  began  to  recover  gradually — they  soon  became 
reconciled  and  composed,  and  the  tide  of  an  amiable 


398 


DICK  WILSOH. 


boyishness  began  to  flow  freely  from  the  heart  of  little 
Harry.  On  the  cheek  of  Eliza,  the  rose  which  had 
prematurely  wilted,  began  to  bloom  for  a second  time, 
with  joy  and  love  and  peace. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


THE  JOURNEY  AND  ITS  RESULTS. 

u ’Tis  woven  in  the  world’s  great  plan. 

And  fixed  by  Heaven’s  decree, 

That  all  the  true  delights  of  man 
Should  spring  from  sympathy 

It  is  a sad  thing  to  turn  from  a new-made  grave 
even  under  the  most  consoling  circumstances  which 
have  ever  hallowed  such  a spot ; and  it  is  all  the  moro 
so,  when  one  feels  that  it  contains  the  most  sacred  treas- 
ure of  earth,  and  leaves  to  be  shrined  in  the  cenotaph 
of  the  heart — the  ever-dear  name  of  mother . 

From  such  a scene  as  this,  and  with  all  the  holy 
feelings  which  pertain  to  it,  Eliza  Wilson  and  her 
little  brother  turned  with  their  crushed  and  bleeding 
hearts,  towards  the  home  of  the  stranger ; to  mingle 
again  in  such  society  as  that  to  which  they  had  been 
accustomed,  before  the  spoiler  brought  death,  desola- 
tion, and  misery  to  their  door. 

Light  was  sown  for  them  in  darkness,  and  it  was 
impossible  that,  in  the  society  of  Mr.  Hamilton’s  fam- 
ily, they  could  long  be  strangers.  From  the  moment 
they  entered  that  house,  their  hearts  were  made  to  vi- 


400 


DICK  WILSON. 


brate  to  the  gentle  touches  of  unmistakable  love  and 
sympathy. 

They  had  been  there  about  two  months,  when  Col. 

C , of  Virginia,  visited  New  York,  and  although 

the  acquaintance  was  only  that  of  an  evening  spent 
with  Mr.  Hamilton’s  family,  yet  his  visit  was  as  wel- 
come as  that  of  an  old  friend.  Six  months  in  the 
balmy  atmosphere  of  his  native  State,  had  wiped  from 
his  countenance  thev  tinge  which  a soldier’s  life  in 
Mexico  had  given  him. 

They  were  delighted  to  see  him,  and  extended  at 
once  the  hospitalities  of  their  house  during  his  stay  in 
the  city. 

The  Colonel  participated  with  much  feeling  in  the 
conversation  over  the  history  of  poor  Dick  Wilson ; 
and  the  probability  that  he  with  whom  he  had  spent 
many  pleasant  hours  in  a strange  land,  was  at  that 
moment  at  the  mercy  of  the  American  legalized  rum- 
seller  ! brought  a tear  to  his  eye. 

“ You  knew  my  brother  once,  did  you,  Col.  C ?” 

inquired  Eliza. 

“ I did,  Miss  Wilson  ; and  when  I saw  him  last  in 
this  very  room,  and  knew  how  his  heart  melted  under 
the  influence  of  those  sweet  strains  sung  so  tenderly 
by  Miss  H., 

Home,  home  again  from  a foreign  shore,’ 

I thought  that  he  was  safe.  I saw  your  brother,  Miss 

Wilson,  at  the  battle  of  Cerro  Gordo,  in  the  advance 


401 


THE  JOURNEY  AND  ITS  RESULTS. 

line,  when  seven  thousand  lancers  were  dashing  to  the 
charge.  I saw  him  also  in  that  triumphal  process- 
ion, as  it  entered  the  gates,  and  planted  the  American 
flag  on  the  parapets  of  the  Montezumas.  Brave 
young  man — but  now  how  fallen ! Strange  that  my 
country — the  American’s  country — the  exile’s  country 
— the  world’s  home  ! — should  permit  this  horrid  work 
to  go  on ! 

“ It  has  been  to  me,  Miss  Wilson,  a matter  of  deep 
regret,  that  I urged  your  brother  to  come  to  Virginia. 
If  I had  not  done  so,  you  might  have  looked  upon 
him  once  more ; still,  I do  not  think  he  would  have 
been  safe.” 

“ Ah ! sir,”  replied  Eliza,  11 1 hope  this  will  not 
cause  you  any  regret.  It  was  an  act  of  generous  kind- 
ness on  your  part,  for  which  none  are  now  left  to 
thank  you,  save  myself  and  little  brother.  If  he  had 
not  fallen  there,  he  might  have  fallen  elsewhere. 
These  lures  to  ruin  and  death  are  filling  every  path  ; 
so  that  there  is  scarcely  a square  mile  in  the  land  in 
which  temptations  are  not  to  be  encountered,  by  just 
such  noble-hearted  young  men  as  Richard.  Oh ! if 
rumsellers  knew  the  character  of  those  pangs  with 
which  they  are  piercing  the  hearts  of  millions,  they 
surely  would  desist!” 

“ Ah  ! Miss  Wilson,”  replied  the  colonel,  “ you  mis- 
read the  hearts  of  a large  majority  of  those  depraved 
men — they  neither  fear  Grod  nor  regard  man — -the  love 
26 


402 


DICK  WILSON. 


of  money  is  tlie  prevailing,  and  the  only  sentiment  in 
their  hearts,  and  left  to  their  own  choice  in  the  mat- 
ter, the  Ethiopian  will  change  his  skin,  before  they 
repent.  The  only  repentance  for  them  is  a legal 
one  P 

In  this  short  conversation  between  Eliza  and  the 
colonel,  and  to  which  Mr.  Hamilton’s  family  were  audi- 
tors— there  was  a feeling  of  evident  pleasure.  It  gave 
them  a deep  insight  into  his  character,  and  they  ad- 
mired the  unequivocal  orthodoxy  of  his  sentiments 
upon  the  great  evil  which  then  as  now,  presented  the 
mightiest  obstacle  in  the  way  of  civilization. 

Col.  C was  far  from  being  insensible  to  the 

worth  of  the  family  to  whom,  seemingly  by  accident, 
he  had  been  introduced,  and  after  a stay  of  several 
weeks,  the  greater  part  of  which  was  spent  in  their 
society,  he  returned  to  his  home. 

One  day  Mr.  Hamilton  entered  the  room,  where 
Kate  and  Eliza  were  seated,  and  laying  a letter  on  the 
table,  he  said  to  Eliza,  “ Here,  my  dear,  is  a letter  for 
you.” 

“ Can  it  be  from  my  brother !”  she  quickly  exclaimed. 
“ No,  my  child,”  said  Mr.  Hamilton,  “ yon  see  it  is  from 

P ; perhaps  it  may  be  from  some  old  friend  of  your 

family ; open  it,  my  dear,  and  read  it.” 

She  broke  the  seal,  and  found  it  to  be  from  Mrs. 
Livingston.  It  was  a kind,  good  letter — -just  such  an 
one  as  orphans  would  be  likely  to  prize.  After  many 


THE  JOURNEY  AND  ITS  RESULTS. 


403 


tender  expressions  of  sympathy  for  them  in  the  severe 
loss  which  they  had  been  called  to  sustain,  she  in- 
formed them  that  Mr.  Livingston  had  reclaimed  from 

the  parlor  of  a fashionable  rumseller  of  P , the 

fine  portraits  of  her  father  and  mother,  which  had 
passed  from  their  possession  under  the  hammer  of  the 
auctioneer. 

“ If  we  had  these,”  she  ejaculated,  laying  down  the 
letter,  “ then  we  would  have  the  images  of  all  our 
dear  loved  ones  now  dead,  but  Ellen.  Ah  ! would  uot 
their  possession  console  my  stricken  heart ! 

Mr.  Hamilton  took  up  the  letter,  and  looking  over  its 
contents  said,  with  much  tenderness;  “yes,  my  sweet 
girl,  you  shall  have  these ; they  are  yours  of  right,  and 
they  must  be  sent  for  immediately,”  and  added,  as  he 
left  the  room,  “ give  yourself  no  uneasiness.” 

The  next  morning  Kate  and  Eliza,  and  little  Harry, 
were  together  as  usual,  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hamilton 
entered,  and  commenced  a conversation, — • 

“We  have  been  thinking,”  said  Mr.  H.,  “that 
it  would  be  pleasant  for  you  to  visit  P- — — ; would 
you  like  to  do  so  ?” 

“Yes  sir,”  replied  Eliza,  “I  would  like  to  visit  that 
place  very  much  ; .but  if  I did,  I must  go  at  your  ex- 
pense, and  that  I cannot  think  of  doing — you  and 
your  dear  family  have  been  too  kind  already ; I never 
can  repay  you.” 

“My  orphan  child,”  said  Mr.  Hamilton,  “speak 


404 


DICK  WILSON. 


not  in  this  way.  Your  presence  and  the  gladsome 
heart  of  your  little  brother,  more  than  repays  us,  every 
day  that  you  are  with  us.  You  must  go,  and  Kate 
and  Frank  shall  go  with  you.” 

“ May  I go  too  ?”  quickly  inquired  Harry,  as  he 
fixed  his  full,  inquiring  blue  eyes  in  the  mild  face  of 
Mr.  Hamilton. 

“ Yes,  my  dear  little  fellow,”  was  the  reply,  “ you 
may  go  too.” 

They  at  once  agreed  upon  the  time  they  should  go  ; 
and  while  Frank  was  getting  his  business  in  order  to 
leave,  Kate  and  Eliza  were  busying  themselves  in 
making  the  necessary  preparations  for  the  journey, 
which  was  expected  to  consume  several  weeks. 

With  Eliza,  thoughts  of  the  unforgotten  past  would 
necessarily  creep  into  her  hours  of  preparation  for  a 
contemplated  journey,  in  which  she  expected  to  have 
brought  before  her  again  in  their  vividness,  the  fear- 
ful scenes  through  which  she  knew  none  but  the  hand 
of  God  could  have  sustained  her  ; and  sometimes  she 
ventured  to  hope  that  at  least  she  might  hear  some- 
thing of  her  brother. 

The  morning  on  which  they  set  out  for  P was 

a beautiful  one,  in  the  early  part  of  September.  The 
trip  was  very  pleasant,  and  each  of  them  seemed  to 
enjoy  it,  and  soon  they  found  themselves  at  the  place 
of  their  destination. 

As  soon  as  it  was  possible,  Frank  called  upon  Mr. 


THE  JOURNEY  AND  ITS  RESULTS.  405 

Livingston  at  his  counting-room,  and  informed  him 
that  Miss  Wilson  and  her  little  brother  were  in  the 
city. 

“ Is  it  possible?”  said  Mr.  Livingston. 

“Yes  sir,”  said  Frank,  “they  have  become  mem- 
bers of  our  family,  and  I have  had  the  pleasure  of  ac- 
companying them  here  on  a visit.” 

“Thank  you — thank  you,  sir,”  said  Mr.  L.  “My 
carriage  will  be  at  the  hotel  for  you  in  half  an  hour  ; 
all  of  the  company  must  come.” 

Frank  had  scarcely  found  his  way  back,  when  a 
servant  announced  the  carriage  to  be  in  waiting  for 
them.  They  ail  entered  it,  and  were  soon  in  the  hos- 
pitable mansion  of  one  of  the  most  worthy  families 
of  the  city. 

Mrs.  Livingston  inquired  particularly  of  the  later 
history  of  the  family.  She  spoke  of  Dick  with  much 
tenderness,  and  as  of  one  who,  in  all  probability,  was 
in  the  grave.  Eliza,  in  her  turn,  inquired  for  many  of 
those  who  were  at  one  time  intimate  at  her  father’s 
house,  and  was  answered  that  already  a number  of 
them — ruined  by  the  fashionable  drinking  customs  of 
the  day — had  gone  down  to  the  cheerless  grave  of  the 
drunkard. 

Mrs.  Livingston  presented  Eliza  with  the  portraits 
which  had  been  wrung  from  them  to  liquidate  the  de- 
mands of  rumsellers ; and  it  made  her  young  heart 
beat  again  for  joy,  to  look  upon  the  dear  faces  of 


406 


DICK  WILSON. 


her  departed  parents ; — they  were  always  dear — now 
they  were  priceless.  They  all  together  visited  the 
place  where  the  dust  of  her  father  and  sister  was  re- 
posing. They  lingered  long  but  with  a calm  tranquil- 
lity around  that  spot ; then  turned  from  that  place  which 
had  become  the  grave  of  their  fondest  and  earliest 
hopes,  and  where  in  their  very  childhood  they  saw 
the  openings  of  adversity’s  path. 

When  they  had  finished  their  visit  in  P , and 

enjoyed  for  a number  of  days  the  hearty  welcome  of 
Mr.  Livingston’s  family,  they  determined  to  visit  the 

village  of  B , to  which  place  they  arrived  after  a 

pleasant  jaunt.  It  was  soon  understood  after  their 
arrival  there,  that  they  were  interested  in  the  history 
of  Dick  Wilson — a name  which  in  that  village  had 
become  a household  word ; and  many,  to  their  great 
annoyance,  gathered  about  them  at  the  hotel,  to  know 
who  they  might  be,  and  if  possible  to  find  out  their 
business.  Mr.  Watson  soon  heard  of  them,  and  at 
once  hastened  to  make  their  acquaintance,  as  soon  as 
he  met  them  and  knew  who  they  were,  he  claimed 
them  as  his  guests  during  their  stay. 

After  a day  spent  in  the  society  of  each  other,  all 
reserve,  which  would  have  prevented  a proper  enjoy- 
ment of  the  occasion,  departed;  and  they  were — as 
was  right  they  should  be — free  to  converse  in  refer- 
ence to  those  subjects  which  were  of  interest  to  them. 

“ Miss  Wilson,”  said  Mrs.  Watson,  “ of  yourself  and 


THE  JOURNEY  AND  ITS  RESULTS.  407 

your  little  brother  I had  heard  poor  Eichard  speak 
with  the  tenderest  affection.  Oh  ! if  you  could  have 
seen  the  noble  manner  in  which — as  he  often  used  to 
say,  ‘more  for  his  dear  ones  than  for  himself’ — he 
contended  with  adversity,  you  would  have  witnessed 
a giant  struggle. 

“ This  was  an  unfortunate  place  for  your  brother — 
the  rum  influence  was  predominant — its  emissaries  were 
everywhere ; and  just  when  he  seemed  to  have  reached 
an  eminence  where  he  was  safe,  they  sacrificed  him . 

Judge  L and  old  Stevens  planned  and  executed 

that  tragedy.  Ah ! yes  ; but  Judge  L and  Ste- 

vens have  not  escaped  the  watchful  eye  of  Providence 
— for  God  has  written  on  the  uncared  for  grave  of  one, 
and  the  whirling  brain  of  the  other,  ‘ Let  their  habita- 
tion be  desolate.’ 

u Stevens  is  dead ; and  his  death  was  of  the  most 
miserable  character.  Eemorse  and  terror  filled  to 
overflowing  his  last  hours.  His  crimes  were  before 
him,  and  the  drover’s  fate  was  revealed  in  the  midst 
of  one  of  his  fearful  paroxysms,  upon  which  the  stout- 
est heart  could  hardly  bear  to  look.  His  confession 
was  full ; he  acknowledged  that  by  his  own  hand  Mr 
Gilmore  had  been  drugged  into  a sound  sleep,  and 
then  murdered  and  buried  ; and,  in  connection  with 
an  individual  already  dead,  that  stone  pile  had  been 
raised  upon  the  drover’s  grave. 

il  In  the  midst  of  his  ravings,  he  was  often  heard  to 


408 


DICK  WILSON. 


say,  1 Wilson,  this  is  a remarkable  case’ — 1 Where  did 
this  happen  ?’  Again,  he  would  call  out  to  the  grave- 
digger, as  if  he  saw  him  opening  that  grave — 1 Jacob ! 
Jacob ! for  God’s  sake  stop  !’.  &c. 

u He  has  left  a miserable  son,  who  is  good  for  no- 
thing but  the  commission  of  crime.  It  could  not  be 
otherwise,  for  he  was  trained  in  vice ; and  although 
he  is  yet  a young  man,  I believe  that  every  sentiment 
of  honor  is  erased  from  his  being. 

“ Judge  L was  so  criminated  in  the  affair,  by 

the  confession  of  Stevens,  that  he  was  obliged  to  leave 
the  country,  and  is  now,  we  understand,  a lunatic, 
and  his  family  reduced  to  poverty.  So,  you  see,  jus- 
tice, though  sometimes  slow,  is  always  sure.  Oh  ! Miss 
Wilson,  the  last  word  I heard  your  brother  utter,  will 
live  in  my  memory  forever — 4 I can’t  tell  where  this 
whirling  brain  may  rest.’  ” 

_ From  this  good  friend,  Eliza  learned  the  history  of 
her  brother’s  struggle  and  fall ; and  having  met  and 
received  the  sympathy  of  many  of  his  friends,  they' 
were  ready  to  proceed  on  their  homeward  journey 
without  interruption. 

In  making  an  inland  tour  through  the  country,  they  • 
were  subject  to  frequent  interruptions  and  detentions, 
by  reason  of  irregular  conveyances,  &c.  After  render 
ing  many  thanks  to  the  kind  family  of  Dick’s  early 
friends,  the  Watson  family,  they  bade  adieu.  In  a few 
hours  after  their  departure,  they  came  to  a place  where 


THE  JOURNEY  AND  ITS  RESULTS. 


409 


it  was  necessary  for  them  to  leave  the  cars  and  take 
to  a canal  packet,  and  in  order  to  make  this  change, 
several  hours  were  necessarily  spent. 

They  entered  a hotel,  and  after  partaking  of  some 
refreshments,  seated  themselves  together  at  a window 
which  overlooked  the  beautiful  bosom  of  the  Ohio. 
At  this  moment,  there  appeared  in  full  view  a scene 
which  attracted  their  attention,  and  awakened  their 
deepest  sympathies.  There  was  before  them,  moving 
with  slow  and  measured  pace,  two  rough-looking  boat- 
men, bearing  in  their  arms  in  the  direction  of  the 
hotel,  an  invalid,  who,  to  all  appearance,  was  in  the 
last  stages  of  a “ quick  consumption .” 

As  they  came  nearer,  they  saw  that  he  was  a young 
man  ; and  Kate  said  to  Eliza- — “ Poor  fellow  ; he  may 
be  one  who  is  struggling  with  disease,  and  striving  to 
keep  death  at  bay,  that  he  may  reach  the  home  of  his 
childhood,  and  feel  the  warm  breath  of  his  mother 
again,  or  the  soothing  hand  of  friends,  before  he  dies.” 

“ That  is  a sad  thought,”  said  Eliza ; “ but  it  may  be 
so.  I am  afraid  his  earthly  pilgrimage  is  doomed  to 
terminate  here.  How  hard  it  must  be  to  die  under 
such  circumstances  1” 

By  this  time  they  had  entered  the  bar-room,  and 
Prank  at  once  arose  from  his  seat.  He  seemed  to  be 
intensely  agitated,  and  stepped  at  once  into  the  hall, 
closing  the  door  after  him  as  he  did  so. 

He  was  standing  near  another  door  leading  into  the 
R 


410 


DICK  WILSOK. 


bar-room,  which  was  partly  open,  but  not  sufficiently 
so  to  give  him  a view  of  those  who  had  just  entered. 
From  where  he  stood,  he  had  a full  view  of  the  land- 
lord, who,  with  an  air  of  wonderful  importance,  was 
posted  behind  the  bar. 

“ Has  he  any  money?’7  were  the  first  words  Frank 
heard. 

“I  guess  he  hasn’t,”  was  the  reply  of  one ; “but  then 
he  isn’t  able  to  go  any  farther.” 

“The  devil  he  ain’t  I Well,  he’ll  have  to  go 
farther.  It’s  no  part  of  a landlord’s  business,  this 
ain’t.  I can’t  afford  to  keep  him  a week  or  ten  days, 
and  Jhen  bury  him,  and  I won’t  do  it  either  ! Go  to 
the  overseers  of  the  poor,  and  if  they  will  pay  me,  I’ll 
do  it ; and  if  they  won’t,  then  I won’t.” 

“ I am  in  a dying  state,”  began  the  invalid,  with  a 
tone  hollow  as  the  sepulchre  itself.  “I  have  vainly 
endeavored  to  reach  my  home ; but  that  last  fond 
hope  is  dead  in  my  heart, — I must  die  in  a few  days. 
Keep  me — you  will  not  be  troubled  long — and  God 
will  reward  you  for  it.  I have  no  money,  and  no 
friend  within  three  hundred  miles.” 

“ I can’t  do  it ! I’ve  a family  to  look  after ; and  he 
is  worse  than  an  infidel  who  don’t  do  this.” 

“ Oh ! my  God  I”  was  the  only  reply  of  the  dying 
young  man. 

“What  is  your  name?”  inquired  the  landlord,  whose 
traffic  had  made  his  heart  harder  than  the  rock. 


THE  JOURNEY  AND  ITS  RESULTS. 


411 


“All!  my  name!— It  would  do  you  little  good  to 
know  it.  I liad  thought  to  keep  that  to  myself,  and 
die  unknown.  My  name  is  Wilson  !” 

At  the  mention  of  the  name,  Frank  at  once  sprang 
into  the  room,  and  grasping  the  hand  of  the  invalid, 
whose  eyes  were  closed,  he  whispered  “Dick!”  A 
convulsive  shudder  passed'through  his  frame,  he  opened 
his  eyes,  exclaiming — “Thank  God!  Frank,  we  meet 
again.  You  will  stay  with  me  until  the  struggle  is 
over!” 

“ Yes,”  replied  Frank,  “ I will  remain  with  you — I 
will  not  leave  you,  while  I can  minister  to  your 
wants.” 

M A friend’s  like  a ship,  when  with  music  and  song, 

The  tide  of  good  fortune  still  speeds  him  along ; 

But  see  him  when  tempests  have  left  him  a wreck, 

And  any  mean  billow  can  batter  his  deck  ; 

But  give  me  the  heart  that  sympathy  shows, 

And  clings  to  a messmate,  whatever  wind  blows.” 

When  this  heartless  man  saw  that  there  would  be 
no  doubt  about  his  pay,  he  at  once  assumed  a fawning 
attitude,  and  was  willing  to  do  anything  and  every- 
thing, that  might  be  necessary.  A room  was  at  once 
prepared,  into  which  Dick  Wilson  was  immediately 
taken  ; and  after  he  was  made  as  comfortable  as  pos- 
sible, Frank  informed  him  of  the  others  who  were  in 
the  house,  and  he  requested  to  see  them  at  once. 

Frank  left  him,  and  returned  to  the  room  in  which 
he  had  left  them.  “You  have  a tender  heart,”  said 
Kate,  as  he  stood  bewildered  before  them. 


412 


DICK  WILSON. 


“ I have  seen  enougli,  my  sister,  to  soften  the  heart 
of  any  one  but  a rumseller.” 

“ You  never  saw  the  invalid  before,  have  you 
Frank?” 

“ Yes,  a thousand  times  !”  and  approaching  nearer, 
he  said,  “ The  invalid  is  poor  Dick!  I have  seen  him, 
and  I thank  God  for  the  Providence  which  detained 
us  here.” 

Eliza  threw  her  face  upon  the  shoulder  of  Kate, 
and  ejaculated,  “ My  poor  brother— lead  me  to  him. 
Oh  ! Where  is  he  ?” 

As  soon  as  the  ladies  could  command  sufficient 
calmness  to  make  their  entrance  proper,  Frank  lead 
them  to  the  room,  and  there  stretched  upon  a bed, 
which  was  manifestly  to  be  a bed  of  death,  lay  Dick 
Wilson.  As  soon  as  they  entered  he  made  an  effort 
to  rise  in  the  bed,  and  his  feeble  arms  were  thrown 
about  the  necks  of  his  sister  and  brother.  “ Where  is 
mother  ?”  he  faintly  inquired. 

“ She  is  dead,”  was  the  answer. 

“ Then  you  are  alone.  Oh ! my  sister  and  little 
brother,  you  little  know  through  what  scenes  I have 
passed.”  * * * * * 

After  he  had  recovered  from  the  exhaustion,  into 
which  this  effort  had  thrown  him,  Eliza  said  to  him, 
“No,  dear  Dick,  we  are  not  alone.  Mr.  Hamilton’s 
kind  family  have  taken  us  to  their  house  and  given 
ns  a home.” 


THE  JOURNEY  AND  ITS  RESULTS. 


413 


“ God  bless  them,”  said  he  ; “ they  did  everything 
that  was  possible  to  save  me,  but  I could  not  escape. 
Even  now,  if  it  had  not  been  for  you,  Frank — with  the 
visage  of  death  stamped  upon  my  countenance- — this 
merciless  rumseller  would  have  refused  me  shelter  in 
his  house,  and  turned  me  into  the  street  to  die.” 

The  next  day  found  him  somewhat  revived,  and  he 
disclosed  to  them  the  history  of  his  fall.  u A single 
drop,”  said  he,  “ wakened  anew  in  my  system  those 
unquenched  fires,  before  the  fury  of  which  I knew  my- 
self to  be  a life-long  wanderer ; and  now  in  this  feeble 
wreck  of  your  dying  friend,  you  see  the  result.  Oh  ! 
Frank,  bear  witness  for  me,  and  let  that  witness  have 
a trumpet’s  tongue,  that  the  rumseller  is  the  great  enemy 
of  mankind  /” 

He  spent  as  much  time  in  short  conversations  with 
his  brother  and  sister,  as  was  proper  in  his  feeble  con- 
dition. It  was  deeply  affecting  to  see  how  tenderly 
he  caressed  that  little  brother,  and  how  solemnly  he 
warned  him  against  those  influences  which  had  led 
him  into  the  path  of  ruin  ; and  now  about  to  make  for 
him  an  untimely  grave.  On  the  sixth  day,  the  clos- 
ing scene  came.  He  seemed  to  be  the  first  to  appre- 
hend its  near  approach  ; and  calling  them  to  his  bed- 
side, he  calmly  said,  “I  am  dying.  This  is  the  last 
earthly  scene  in  my  history.”  And  then  taking  the 
hands  of  those  dear  ones,  who  stood  by  his  bed,  he 
pressed  them  to  his  lips  : then,  without  a struggle,  the 
E* 


414 


DICK  WILSON*. 


spirit  of  Richard  Wilson,  The  Rumseller's  Victim , with 
a trembling  hope  in  the  mercies  of  the  Redeemer, 
passed  into  the  presence  of  God. 

It  was  on  Sabbath  morning  when  they  made  him 
a grave,  in  a lonely  part  of  the  little  country  cemetery 

at  R . The  evidence  of  respect  and  affection  was 

mingled  with  the  clods  that  rolled  in  upon  his  grave  ; 
and  they  turned  from  the  tomb  of  the  brother  and  the 
friend,  sad  in  heart,  it  is  true — yet,  with  assurance  that 
the  rumseller’s  triumph  with  him  was  finished,  that  the 
victim  was  at  last  quiet  in  the  grave.  * * * * * 

The  amiable  and  lovely  Eliza  Wilson  is  now  the 
wife  of  the  high-souled  Frank  Hamilton  ; who,  with  a 
noble  magnanimity  and  real  devotion  to  the  true  in- 
terests of  humanity,  is  contending  with  a giant’s  energy 
for  the  passage  of  the  “Maine  Law”  in  his  native 
State ; and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hamilton  still  live,  to  invoke 
the  blessing  of  God  upon  the  cause.  Harry,  whom 
they  have  adopted,  and  love  as  their  own  son,  gives 
them  every  reason  to  hope  for  his  future  success  as  a 

scholar  and  as  a Christian.  It  is  said  that  Col.  C 

will  come  again  from  Virginia,  to  transplant  the  beau- 
tiful, accomplished,  and  good  Kate  Hamilton  to  the 
region  of  sunny  skies  and  milder  days ; where,  may  she 
long  live  to  love  and  be  beloved,  as  virtue’s  true 
heroines  should  ever  be. 


CHAPTER  XX Y I. 


THE  “MAINE  LAW”  OUR  ONLY  HOPE. — CONCLUSION. 

u On  the  world’s  wide  field  of  battle, 

In  the  bivouac  of  life, 

Be  not  like  dumb  driven  cattle : 

Be  a hero  in  the  strife.” 

Fkiends  of  humanity ! you  who  have  wept,  and 
whose  hearts  have  bled,  at  the  sight  of  the  fearful  de- 
solations which  intemperance  has  made,  what  is  to  be 
done  ? A wary,  gigantic,  and  interested  enemy,  feed- 
ing upon  the  hopes  and  happiness,  and  reddened  by 
the  blood  of  fathers,  sons,  mothers  and  sisters,  is  strug- 
gling to  maintain  an  existence,  which  has  already  de- 
stroyed the  hopes  and  happiness  of  millions ; and  which 
is  ready,  for  a price,  to  revel  in  the  overthrow  of  mil- 
lions more,  and  scatter  broad-cast  over  the  land  the  ger- 
minating elements  of  disease,  crime,  poverty  and  death  ! 

Is  the  contest  to  be  given  up,  and  hope  surrendered  * 
to  the  spoiler,  that  his  unslaked  thirst  for  human 
blood  may  still  delight  itself  in  the  warm,  fresh  cur- 
rent of  new  victims  ? 

Is  the  banner  which  has  floated  proudly  in  times  of 
darkness,  and  amidst  many  dreary  vicissitudes,  now 


416 


DICK  WILSON, 


to  be  furled  ? No ! Hope,  gathering  strength  from 
every  element,  which  marks  the  progress  of  God’s 
great  purposes,  answers,  no ! no  ! no  ! but  keeps  the 
field ; and  let  the  banner,  borne  by  stalwart  arms  and 
strong  hearts,  wave  forth  proudly  as  it  ever  did,  dis- 
playing the  simple  motto,  the  “MAINE  LAW,”  until 
every  State  shall  catch  the  philanthropic  inspiration, 
and  drive  this  monster,  Intemperance,  from  their  bor- 
ders. 

The  story  of  Dick  Wilson  is  only  that  of  thousands 
of  young  men,  who,  by  the  pernicious  influence  of 
the  rumselling  fraternity,  under  legal  sanction,  have 
been  made  to  suffer,  to  bleed,  and  to  die.  This  is  but 
one  of  the  ten  thousand  families  which,  by  the  power 
of  this  legalized  wickedness,  have  been  stricken  down 
to  the  very  earth  ; and  whose  agonizing  wails  are 
piercing  the  heavens,  and  calling  down  vengeance  of 
the  Almighty.  Who  are  suffering  at  the  hands  of 
this  desperately  fortified  organization,  which  has  in- 
sinuated itself,  with  the  stealthiness  of  a tiger’s  step, 
both  into  the  ballot-box  and  the  legislative  hall — that 
it  may  control  the  one  and  overawe  the  other  ? Ra- 
ther, who  are  not  suffering  ? 

Every  relation  in  life  has  been  chilled  and  torn  by 
it,  and  its  sacred  sanctity  has  been  wantonly  violated 
by  its  accursed  touch.  You  have  seen  the  father,  un- 
der its  influence,  tottering  to  his  home,  and  through 
life — -tottering  even  to  the  grave ; and  you  have  seen 


CONCLUSION. 


417 


the  mother  and  the  children,  who  were  as  dear  to  her 
as  if  the  munificence  of  a princess  had  been  hers,  sub- 
sisting upon  tears  and  sorrow  and  poverty  ; for,  lock- 
ed in  the  coffers  of  the  rumseller  was  the  living  of 
which  she  was  the  rightful , and  ought  to  have  been  the 
legal  owner.  You  have  seen  the  strong  young  man 
going  forth  into  the  world,  intent  upon  the  prize  for 
which  he  was  struggling  vigorously  and  with  a high- 
souled  magnanimity,  each  day  removing  obstacles  and 
dissipating  fears,  until  the  end  was  full  in  view,  and 
the  reward  was  just  within  his  grasp.  Friends  were 
attracted  to  him  by  the  rich  promise  he  gave,  and 
upon  him  their  earnest  and  admiring  glance  was  fixed, 
as  he  passed  another  and  another  of  those  who  were 
competitors  in  the  same  race,  and  they  doubted  not 
that  he  would  reach  the  goal  of  his  ambition.  But  in 
his,  as  in  thousands  upon  thousands  of  similar  cases, 
they  did  not  know  that  a concealed  venom  was  rank- 
ling in  his  veins,  and  that  already  the  fatal  fire  was 
kindled  within  him,  which,  although  smothered  for 
the  time,  was  only  waiting  an  adverse  gale  of  fortune, 
to  fan  it  into  furious  and  uncontrollable  flame.  It 
came  : the  victim  struggled  fiercely  in  the  contest  for 
life,  but  was  overcome  in  the  encounter,  and  sank 
into  the  dark  and  cheerless  embrace  of  the  drunk- 
ard’s grave.  And  did  he  fall  alone  ? Had  that 
been  so,  the  scene  would  have  been  relieved  of  more 
than  half  its  horror.  A mother,  sister,  and  brother  are 

27 


418 


DICK  WILSON. 


again  smitten  by  the  crusting  blow,  tbeir  staff  broken, 
and  tbeir  earthly  hopes  and  prospects  blighted. 

This  is  but  a single  case.  Every  city,  town  and 
village  in  our  broadband  presents  a daily  record  of 
numerous  cases,  of  which  this  is  but  a faint  example. 
Few  are  the  families  even  that  have  not  been  more  or 
less  directly  scourged  by  this  pest  of  the  race.  The 
long  and  full  chronicle  of  crime,  the  baseness  which 
gloats  in  its  triumphs  over  propriety  and  decency,  the 
broils  which  disturb  public  and  private  peace,  the 
haggard  ghosts  of  poverty  and  want,  with  all  their 
suffering  children,  the  madness  which  dethrones  rea- 
son and  demolishes  “the  dome  of  thought” — indeed, 
by  far  the  greater  share  of  all  the  ills  that  flesh  is  heir 
to,  have  their  origin  in  the  same  proliflic  source  of  evil 
and  of  ruin. 

In  view  of  the  devastation  which  it  has  wrought, 
and  is  still  working,  how  humiliating  the  thought,  that 
in  this  country,  at  this  time,  with  all  the  lights  emitted 
from  the  temples  of  science  and  the  altars  of  religion, 
it  should  still  go  on,  immolating  annually  its  thousands 
of  victims,  and  this,  too,  under  the  sanction  of  Ameri- 
can law  ! 

Again,  the  question  occurs — -What  shall  be  done? 
Is  the  evil  beyond  our  reach  ? Shall  we  abandon  the 
field  to  the  destroyer,  and  let  his  horrid  work  go  on  ? 
Shall  we  continue,  as  we  have  heretofore  done,  to  aid  in 
the  destruction  of  our  countrymen  and  kindred,  by 


CONCLUSION. 


419 


giving  to  the  rum  traffic  the  positive  sanction  of  law  ? 
u Forbid  it,  my  country — forbid  it,  heaven  I”  Every 
motive  which  should  control  the  actions  of  the  phil- 
anthropist, the  Christian,  the  political  economist,  the 
man  of  business,  the  friend  of  his  family,  or  of  him- 
self even,  impels  to  action.  Humanity,  in  all  her  forms 
of  wretchedness,  is  making  her  most  earnest  and  solemn 
appeals.  Her  arguments  are  want  and  misery,  sorrow 
and  suffering,  tears  and  trials,  crime  and  blood.  They 
are,  however,  utterly  unavailing  with  those  whose 
sensibilities  have  been  benumbed,  whose  sympathies 
have  been  dried  up,  by  the  degrading  associations  and 
influences  of  the  rum  traffic.  Gain  is  their  only  ob- 
ject, and  the  -consequences  which  result  to  individuals 
or  to  society  are  nothing  to  them,  if  they  only  make 
it  profitable.  Disease  and  death  may  be  before  and 
around  them — the  fondest  hopes  and  the  dearest  rela- 
tions of  life  may  be  blighted  and  severed  by  their 
touch,  without  exciting  one  throb  of  pity  in  their  cal- 
lous hearts,  or  one  purpose  of  amendment  in  their  ob- 
durate minds. 

A business,  therefore,  the  natural  and  unavoidable 
effects  of  which  is  to  harden  and  degrade  those  en- 
gaged m it,  and  from  which  society  so  bitterly  suffers, 
should  obviously  be  prohibited  by  the  strong  arm  of 
public  law,  from  further  riot  upon  social  peace. 

How  is  this  to  be  done  ? All  legislation  upon  this 
subject,  with  the  exception  of  what  is  familiarly  known 


420 


DICK  WILSON. 


as  tlie  “ Maine  Law,”  has  been  a failure.  It  has  not 
been  able  to  stay  the  tide  upon  which  thousands  have 
annually  been  drifted  to  ruin.  Entire  prohibition  is 
the  only  legislation  on  this  subject  which  promises 
safety ; the  only  remedy  that  will  secure  the  peace  and 
happiness  of  future  generations — from  the  curse  of  the 
monster  evil.  Help  then  ! or  your  father — brother — 
child — friend— may  be  the  next  to  fall  within  its  terri- 
ble embrace  and  fill  a drunkard  grave! 


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